The Fix Read Online Mia Sheridan

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The ropes fell off Cami, pooling on the floor in a heap as Mrs. Barclay dropped and the crowd’s cheers turned to screams. Cami gasped, surging to her feet. Free.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Dear Cami,

I’m sorry to have rendered you physically helpless once again. I know better than anyone the panic of that predicament. Now, however, you understand my reason, and I hope you found the additional stress worthwhile in the end.

You deserved a front-row seat to the conclusion of this sordid saga.

Mrs. Barclay would never have stopped until “the Cyrus issue” was resolved. Death. Injury. Another disappearance. Who can even say the manner she’d choose. But if you have any doubts, if you’re cycling through the potential scenarios of how you might have taken her down first, allow me to save you the effort.

I’ve watched Felicia Barclay operate from the inside. I’ve seen her in action. She plays to win.

You, Cami, might have gone to the police with what I divulged to you. You could have made accusations against Mrs. Barclay, and perhaps the authorities would have questioned her. Within hours, however, she’d have a bevy of high-priced lawyers sue you for slander. They would set out to bankrupt you and take your business. A judge, bought and paid for, would place a gag order on you, and then the Barclays would go about ruining you in every way possible.

And after you were penniless and broken? Maybe even years down the line? She’d continue hiring hit after hit on those you love. Car accidents. Suicides. None of which would be traceable because she wouldn’t do the dirty work. Do you think fixers keep records? It all disappears. You’d have to live looking over your shoulder all your life. Her continued efforts would serve as a reminder to know your place.

Maybe you’re thinking that we could have joined forces, you and me. We could have headed to the police today instead of Hollis’s rally. But with what proof? Still, maybe, if I’m choosing a hopeful lens, a few of our accusations might have gotten leaked before the Barclay lawyers could descend.

Maybe it would at least serve to derail Hollis’s campaign.

Or maybe it would give him steam.

That would be up to the media and the media constructs the story it wants to tell. It creates heroes and victims. It designates who is nobody and who is not. Look who they made Hollis out to be. They still play clips of him sometimes in the updates about your family, a tear running slowly down his cheek.

The lighting and the music make him look like a goddamn hero.

The truth is quite a bit different, as we know.

And yet, that tear might very well propel him all the way to the White House.

Even if Hollis loses his congressional bid, the Barclays will still be rich and powerful. They have so much money, and an endless number of contacts. They’ll have a thousand ways to make you pay. To make Cyrus pay. I know about revenge. I know what it does to people, even those who start off good.

What about the fixer, you might ask. Who are they? The information wouldn’t help you, and it’s better not to know. They’ll be no worry to you now. They fix problems, Cami, and you’re no longer anyone’s concern. Perhaps someday someone with more power than me or you will dismantle their operation, though I doubt it’s even possible.

So many maybes. Too many what-ifs. The time has passed for guesswork. We deserve certainties now. And peace.

I kept quiet when I should have spoken. I protected those who were undeserving of protection. I aligned with the corrupt, and I believed their lies. I considered myself a victim, nothing more. But now, as I write this letter, I feel a building momentum inside, and I swear I hear music rising as the crescendo approaches. And I realize that I have a chance to write the ending just the way I choose. It’s bloody, Cami, it has to be. But it’s victorious too.

Have I become my mother? Believing it my right to set the stage as I desire? I’ll have a long time to think about that. And somehow, the knowledge brings me solace.

Live your life well, Cami. Make it a good one. You’ve more than earned it.

With great admiration,

Seraphina Arnoult

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Rex sat down in the chair next to Cami’s hospital bed and took her hand. It’d been a good hour before she’d stopped shaking. It was well past ten now and she was rightly exhausted from what she’d endured and the horrific shock—shared by the nation, he imagined—of watching a woman be assassinated on live TV. She only had a few minor cuts and some less-minor bruises. But it wasn’t totally clear what muscle relaxant or in what dose Seraphina had administered to Cami, and so the doctor had decided to keep her overnight as a precaution, should an unexpected reaction arise.

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