All That Could Be Lost

Statement Three

The coffee shop in downtown Seattle was quiet. Industrial lighting. Mismatched chairs. The kind of place that wanted you to feel safe, even while everything around you was unstable.

Vivienne Thompson didn't notice the woman at the corner table at first.

She walked in five minutes early, clutching her tote bag like it might protect her. She was thirty-four, tired, and already regretting answering the email. The sender hadn't identified themselves.

The offer was vague: "A conversation. A solution."

She was expecting a campaign staffer. A lawyer, maybe.

Not her.

Not Kerry.

Kerry was seated in the back, dressed in slate gray, a leather folder in front of her, untouched tea at her side. She didn't smile when Vivienne approached.

"Sit," she said softly.

Vivienne hesitated. "You're... you're her-"

"I'm whoever you need me to be this afternoon," Kerry said.

She sat. Slowly. She looked around. No one was watching them.

"Is this about the rumors?" She asked. "Because I have no idea how I got pulled into-"

Kerry opened the folder and slid a document across the table. It was a simple NDA-three pages, already highlighted. Her voice didn't rise above a whisper.

"You've been selected to participate in a strategic containment protocol."

"I'm sorry, a what?"

"You'll confirm," Kerry continued, "that you were present at the hotel with Attorney General Harris. You'll state that the interaction was private but not inappropriate, consensual but brief, and ended on neutral terms. You'll do this publicly, and only once. We'll handle the rest."

Vivienne blinked. "That's not true. It wasn’t me."

Kerry didn't blink. "It will be."

"No. I'm not- I wasn't- I barely know her. We were in the same circles a few times, that's it."

Kerry folded her hands. "Then this will be easy for you."

"I'm not lying for your narrative."

Kerry tilted her head. "You're not lying. You're trading."

She slid another envelope across the table. It was thick. Cashier's check.

Mid six figures.

Vivienne looked at it like it might burn her hands.

"I don't want money."

"Of course you do," Kerry said. "You just haven't admitted it yet."

She pushed the envelope back. "No."

Kerry paused. Her expression didn't shift. She opened her folder again, slower this time. A second document slid into view.

A screenshot. Then another.

Photos. Messages. A name.

Vivienne froze.

Kerry spoke gently now. "We both have things we'd rather not explain. You have a sister in recovery who can't afford to lose her job at the public school. And I imagine you'd rather not have your private health records appear in a congressional leak."

Her eyes were wide. "You can't-"

"I haven't. Yet."

The silence thickened.