And let me know that she knows about Henry.
She’d threatened me, so subtly that I couldn’t even use that as evidence against her. She had a light touch. She played to win. I could picture her, using that light touch to draw together three men, to plant the idea in their heads that together, they could get away with murder. I could see her pulling their strings. I could see her doing it all without leaving even a trace of evidence behind.
Months ago, I’d told Georgia that a dead Supreme Court justice was a problem, and she’d corrected me. Theo Marquette’s death is a tragedy, she’d said. And, quite frankly, it’s an opportunity, tragic though it may be.
I couldn’t prove anything. I couldn’t tell anyone. But in the pit of my stomach, I knew.
The First Lady was the most dangerous player in this game.
“In the past weeks, each and every one of you has demonstrated the qualities that the Hardwicke School values above all else: integrity, perseverance, courage.” The new headmaster spoke from the front of the chapel. “With the start of the new semester,” she continued, “we are looking forward, as a community, as a family, as a school. You are all survivors. I feel awed to be standing here in front of you, with you, as we move into the future.”
Beside me, Vivvie slipped a hand into mine. Asher sat on my other side, folding what appeared to be an origami flamingo. He bumped his shoulder into mine. On his other side, Henry eyed the flamingo with some level of distrust.
Henry’s eyes flitted briefly toward mine. I looked away.
“You are all changed,” the headmaster said. “What happened at this school will never leave you. You will carry it with you—but it isn’t a burden that any of you have to carry alone. You are part of a long tradition of excellence, a family of scholars, a community that will come through this stronger than ever. You,” the headmaster said, emphasizing the word, “are the leaders of tomorrow.”
Leaders. My mind went to the president, to the First Lady, to everything I suspected and knew and couldn’t tell.
“To that end, next week, we will begin anew with a fresh round of student council nominations. I hope that many of you will run, that your pride in your school—and yourselves—is stronger than ever, for what you have survived.”
My gaze found its way to Emilia. She was sitting a few rows in front of us, between Maya and Di.
Stronger than ever, for what you have survived.
Emilia deserved to win.
As chapel let out, and we began to walk back to the main campus, Henry fell in step beside me. “I won’t run,” he told me.
I heard what he didn’t say: Emilia deserves it. I don’t. I’m not what they think I am. I’m not what I thought I was. I don’t know who I am anymore.
I heard all that in those three words of Henry’s. I also heard the underlying assumption: that if he ran, he would win.
“Go ahead,” I told Henry. “Run.”
Emilia would beat him. Somehow, some way, I would make sure of it. Just like somehow, some way, I would find a way to prove what I suspected about Georgia Nolan.
Power. The First Lady had it. I didn’t. But I was Ivy Kendrick’s daughter. I’d been raised by Gramps and taught strategy by the kingmaker. When I saw a problem, I solved it.
I wouldn’t stay powerless for long.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Fixer books, more than any of my others, are stories that have been made in revision. I am incredibly grateful to Catherine Onder for her feedback and guidance as we zeroed in on Tess’s adventures in The Long Game. Special thanks also go out to Nick Thomas, who helped see this book from start to finish. As always, I’m indebted to my agent, Elizabeth Harding, who has fought incredibly hard for this series at every step along the way. Thanks also to Holly Frederick, Sarah Perillo, Kerry Cullen, and Jonathan Lyons at Curtis Brown, as well as the fabulous Ginger Clark, who’s been a huge advocate for The Fixer since day one. I’m incredibly grateful to everyone at Bloomsbury who has worked on these books and owe a special thank you to my publicist, Courtney Griffin.
This book could not have been written without the lovely Rachel Vincent, who kept me company (and kept me sane) as I wrote it! Rachel, I appreciate how many times you listened to me say “I just need to get the [spoiler] into the [spoiler]!” I truly could not have written this book without you.
I also owe a huge debt to my mother, Marsha Barnes, who took over planning my wedding (and made it the most incredible, perfect day) when I was on deadline. Thank you to my dad for spending nine hours stuffing invitations, ordering a flower girl dress, keeping track of RSVPs, and doing all of the table and menu arrangements, so that I could write and revise (and revise!) this book. I am truly blessed to have such a wonderful family and am grateful for each and every one of you.
Finally, thank you to my husband, Anthony, for constant support, always being there to listen, and making me laugh every single day.