The Side Effects of Marriage

Chapter 7

"Hi, is this Senator Underwood's office? This is Layla Song from the Herald, and I was just calling to see if he was available for an interview," Layla said, phone balanced between her ear and shoulder as she pulled out a yellow legal pad from her tote bag. Her lunch rested on her knees in a styrofoam box as she sat on the park bench, watching pigeons go by. "I wanted to ask about his reelection campaign."

"Who gave you this number?" demanded a groggy voice. She checked her watch. Ten am. Surely that was too late to still be sleeping? Unless she'd dialed the wrong number... or Vihaan had given it to her as a prank when she'd texted him about Senator Underwood.

"Vihaan Bakshi, sir," she said. Was this the Senator himself? That seemed unlikely. More likely, it was a young intern who'd fallen asleep at their desk... right?

"Bakshi?" the man repeated. "Well, Ms. Song, get on with it, then."

She clicked her pen. "May I know to whom I'm speaking?"

The man barked a hoarse laugh. "Underwood. Jacob Underwood."

"Nice to meet you." She paused, unsure of what to say. "Tell me, what is your opinion on gun control right now? I know a lot of your constituents in Chicago are pushing for you to increase--"

"Do you really think gun control is the most important question of my reelection campaign?"

A pigeon pecked at the ground before staring directly at her, as though annoyed that her food was hidden away behind white polystyrene instead of strewn on the grass for the birds to eat. "I thought I'd throw you a softball."

"Bah. I don't need softballs. I've been playing this game for longer than you've been alive, Ms Song." He made a noise that suggested he was grimacing. She might have laughed if she wasn't being dragged down a rabbit hole of suspicion. "I know what you really want to talk about."

"Do you, Senator?"

"Of course. It's all anyone wants to talk about. My tax records."

Senator Jacob Underwood's tax records had been under public scrutiny recently, since about three months ago when he'd launched his reelection campaign, his much younger rival had made allegations of tax evasion on Underwood's part, It wasn't a far stretch--the man owned four houses, a yacht, and sent his three sons to Ivy League schools. Thus, he was the paragon of entitled elitism and wealthy hypocrisy, and an easy target for people to decry "eat the rich!" about.

Layla, however, didn't believe the truth was ever so simple. She'd seen the leaked images of the man's tax records, and while not exactly by the book, he'd used loopholes that were legal. Not ethical, perhaps, but certainly legal.

"Do you think your tax evasion scandal presents a significant barrier to reelection, then, Senator?"

"I think I've donated more to charity--as much in charity--as I've paid taxes, and I'm sure we both know which one is more effective."

"What are you implying, Senator?" She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his statement.

"Charities, at least, are subject to public scrutiny and CEO scandals," he said. "But all that bureaucracy? Where are your taxes really going?"

"I never took you for a libertarian, Senator," she said evenly.

He laughed again, a raw, gritty sound that made her wince. "You know, there's a lot of my life that I don't let the media see. Listen, I'm all out of time for today. Gotta get to a golf game. But tell Bakshi to give me a call, we can catch up when he has the time."

Then he hung up, leaving her on dial tone. She glanced down at the phone number, the one Vihaan had given her, and thought it looked familiar. It matched the one she'd copied down in a hurry from Rise Up's donor list. The faint glow of victory at connecting some dots faded quickly.