Page 159 of The Maverick
Madeline sat down and glanced at the bowls of fruits and trays of cookies reserved just for her. She touched the reserved sign as though she was stroking her own ego. She took a small plate, grabbed a sugar cookie, bit into it, and scooped up some blueberries. My gaze stayed on her as she placed a berry intoher mouth. She chewed and swallowed it. Then she arched an eyebrow, probably wondering why the sweet berry’s taste turned bitter. Those were the properties of theAtropa belladonna—initially sweet with a bitter and acrid aftertaste.
When the President sat down, she rose to speak about the artwork and the cause. President Collins scooped berries onto his plate and ate. Happiness spread throughout my body.
The couple relaxed in their chairs, eating casually as the patrons enjoyed their snacks in their seats or at the high tables. Chatter and music continued to boom.
Suddenly, the three wide-screen TVs turned on with a question flashing against a black screen:Do you know who is the real Madeline Claude-Collins?
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
VANESSA
The room went quiet,and the band stopped playing.
The President and his wife exchanged perplexed glances.
“What does that mean?” asked a woman with the short brown hair. “Does the First Lady have a different identity?”
“Is there something you’d like us to know, First Lady?” asked a man in a corduroy jacket. “We’re here to support your charity, so we’d like to know the truth.”
Conversations erupted amongst the tables as they waited for a response from the First Couple.
I smirked knowing the woman and man who asked the questions probably worked for Musepaper.
A second later, videos of Ashton Lindor as a high school teen splashed onto the screen. It was a clip from a performance ofMacbeth. The cast got to introduce themselves.
“That looks like you, First Lady,” said the short-haired woman.
“It does,” said another reporter. “Do you have a brother?”
“Where’s my assistant?” Madeline searched the room.
“Jack!” The President called out to the secret service agent whom I had met before. He was nowhere in sight.
The President and his wife both placed a hand on their chests, signifying their increased heart rate and difficulty breathing.
“Is that the First Lady in the video?” someone asked.
“That’s not me!” Madeline shouted, losing her British accent.
“But it looks so much like you.” A woman reporter snapped a photo of her.
“All of you—get out!” she shouted, blocking her face with her forearm.
“But we paid for the event,” said a man sitting with his wife.
Looking pale, the President glanced around, probably looking for his people. Where were they?
A side-by-side image of Ashton and Madeline popped onto the TV screen.
A computer voice said, “President Charles Collins and his wife have lied to you. Madeline Claude-Collins is a transgender woman from the wealthy Claude family. They’re running a powerful crime organization called The Trogyn, and they own Harris Foods, LLC and Harris Pharmaceuticals. They are feeding your children poisoned food, making them sick. They’re forcing you to buy medicine from their company. These are the evil people around you.” Images of the members flashed onto the screen. “The CIA is compromised by The Trogyn. They’re killing Americans everywhere. This is how Madeline reacts when she doesn’t get what she wants. She was only sixteen.”
The video played the recording of Ashton beating Attikus. It stopped when Ashton’s face was clearly visible.
“Stop it! Jack! Where the fuck are you?” She shouted for the secret service. “They’re lying. They’re trying to smear me.”
“What happened to your British accent?” asked someone in the crowd.
Conversations erupted, and people left with fear, anger, and confusion on their faces.
