Page 1 of Dirty Secret

CHAPTER 1

Heidi

I was so wet. Soaked.

Despite the heatwave outside, a shiver ran up my spine as I pushed my tangled, damp hair from my eyes.

With a soft thud and breathy sigh, I pressed my back against the brick wall. My once pristine tank top, now damp and filthy, twisted up my torso as I squirmed against the coarse hundred-year-old basement wall.

"I never realized how many pipes were in the ceiling down here." My heart beat wildly as I worked hard to keep the quiver from my voice while gazing above.

My new sandals—a slippery hazard—kept me from adjusting my position, though I wanted to. I had an intense urge to stop my life and get off.

Nothing was working, especially at this moment.

"Heidi, focus. You never were cool under pressure." I heard my father's sigh loud and clear through the cell phone pressed against my ear. "Can you see where the leak is located?"

Of course, he was right—Senator John White, and my mother, Senator Sofia H. White, were always right. And I was the one the press dubbed "Heidi White, the perfect daughter," for which my parents had the equivalent to a political orgasm. And, much to my stomach's sorrow, I had to witness. But we all knew that Heidi White wasn't good for much but a decent photo-op and perhaps a sweet cookie.

I was flawless to all outside observers. Here I stood in the basement of the townhouse I bought less than six months ago, and I didn't have the first clue how to stop a water leak.

I was lost and reaching out to Daddy to fix all the broken pieces in my life.

"The ceiling."

"That's not helpful. Look, I'm missing a meeting with Attorney General Fitzwilliam. Do you know how long I have waited to meet with that man? I'll have Debra send you instructions to shut off the water in your house."

Of course, I needed to shut the water off first. I shook my head at the obviousness of it all. Mental note—buy a book about taking care of basic home upkeep.

My shoulders sagged, and a rare smile formed as I spoke to my dad. Dare I hope that he wanted to help me? Not because of his habit of manipulation, but because I was his daughter, and that's what fathers do? Maybe since I became a homeowner, or an excellent tax-paying citizen as he puts it, he was seeing me as a mature, responsible adult.

"Thank you, Dad. That would be wonderful—"

"I had golf with Senator Aragon a few days ago. You know his son, Felipe, is fixing up his new condo."

I held my breath, my skin numbing from the icy water. He knew Felipe, and I were best friends. Perhaps that was why he's talking about him, to update me on something funny Felipe or his father did, not because he wanted to bribe his daughter.

"Yes, he mentioned how he gutted the place for a complete redesign."

My body was shaking, but I had no idea if it was because of the water or the anticipation of what he would say next.

"Felipe went on and on about the plumber he used."

"Great. I'll call Felipe and get the name of the plumber."

I wanted to hang up. I began to move my thumb into position to end the call before my father could further damage my day. But something stopped me.

It was the same thing that always prevented me from standing up to my parents. It's not that I'm a coward . . . Okay, that's not entirely accurate. I was known to be a bit of a chicken, but my parents were some of the most influential people in the country. And they had no problem screwing over their own family to get their way. Just ask my eldest brother, Brandon.

"No need to do that, Heidi. I got the plumber's information right here. Debra is contacting him right now. Just do me a small favor, will you?"

There it was—his favor, or as any reasonable person would see it, a bribe.

To anyone that didn't know my dad, he sounded like the typical father. Going above and beyond for his daughter and asking her to do a tiny little nothing in return. But I knew him. It couldn't be small. It wouldn't be little. And it absolutely wouldn't be nothing.

A cloak of fun and excitement and something people would die to be a part of would surround the favor—his real plan hidden underneath—something that gave him more power or money, while leaving me and anyone associated with the idea nothing but blame from the outside public.

My dad had said once in the past when he took a donation for his charity that wasn't a charity at all, "It's not stealing if someone willingly hands over the check."

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