Chapter 16

CYNTHIA CORVILLE

Cynthia Corville wanted to scream.

But a President couldn't do that.

A President could have emotions at particular times that matched the tone of their speech, but the emotions had to be pre-planned.

A President could be somber when a tragedy had occurred.

A President could be grateful when they had just won an election.

But a President could not scream.

They had to remain calm and level-headed at all times.

And screaming would immediately draw the Waverwell Government Building Precinct to her— a President screaming was surely a threat.

But there was no threat now. Cynthia was perfectly safe in the President's Room at her too-big mahogany desk in a room too big for practicality, not that practical was ever considered when designing any aspect of the Waverwell government building.

The deaths from the disease had been spiking, and more and more who had fallen ill with it had passed away.

Leviathan Inc. had been looking into Charlie Springs's slip-up in the Waverwell News interview when she named the disease Arkreyitis without any proof Arkreon had ever had any tie to the disease.

People had been calling for an investigation into how Charlie Springs had even come to that conclusion and why she would throw such a company under the bus like that.

Others had been wondering if perhaps she was the whistleblower.

It felt like her country was falling apart, and she had to hold it together.

Cynthia had to keep Waverwell afloat.

xxxx

Cynthia took a slow inhale, and then exhaled even slower. Now was not the time for a spiral of anxiety. A President did not lose their cool. A President would shoulder any struggle with grace and dignity.

All of Waverwell was counting on her, and she could not crack.

One thing at a time, she told herself.

Prioritize.

It was a skill she had learned before getting elected as President, but it was now one she knew as well as the back of her hand.

Cynthia flipped through an update Seven Valentine had brought her a short while ago.

It outlined the changes in the disease. But the most chilling part was how the deaths caused by it had been steadily creeping upward with no signs of slowing.

And with no current cure, doctors could do little for their patients beyond make them comfortable and try everything they could.

Please, Cynthia hoped with everything she could, don't let this cost any more lives. Please let there be some easy fix.

But a President didn't hope.

A President took action. A President drew up a detailed outline. A President used their power to enforce strict guidelines. A President wouldn't leave their country to something like hope. A President wouldn't put something as important as the well-being of their country in the hands of something so out of their control.

Hope was never meant for a President.

A President would always remain in control.

Cynthia had to remain in control, even as she watched the infection tallies rise. Even as she saw the deaths climb steadily upward.

She knew the lockdown had helped, even though many were protesting against it.

Why stay inside when there was no evidence it had actually done anything? People had still gotten infected with the disease. People still had the rash in blotchy, red patches that slowly turned yellow as the disease took its toll.

But Cynthia knew that people would get infected even with the lockdown. It was just that the numbers would be far lower.

She had to stay in control. Remain calm, cool, and collected. Her country needed her.

And right now they needed a cure for the disease.

Cynthia had sent Danzig Sterling, the lead researcher at the Corville Medical Center, an email. She received updates every day, often several times throughout the day. But she wanted to hear from them, to ask specifically how things were going, if anything was needed, what their thoughts were. She wanted to speak with them directly, not with multiple people in the chain of custody.

I hope your research into the disease is going well, she had written. I am here to offer whatever I can to assist you. All you need to do is ask.

Cynthia loved politics, loved her job. She was beyond grateful at the opportunity she had to be President. As a child, she had dreamed of this moment, and she wouldn't trade it for anything.

But it felt like she couldn't do enough.

She wanted to help solve Ashley Baok and Alaska Wendell March's murders, but all she could do was help put together the task force.

She wanted to help cure the disease and stop more people from getting sick and dying, but all she could do was give resources to the doctors and researchers.

She could implement as many rules and regulations as she could, but she couldn't get out there on the ground and work. All she could do was sit in her chair in the President's Room at the Waverwell government building and read through reports, send emails, talk with people, and hope that what she was doing was enough.

But a President didn't hope.

Game plan, Cynthia, she reminded herself. She needed a plan to execute, one that would solve the issues she was facing and tackle each one. It didn't have to be pretty. It didn't have to be the best plan ever designed. It just needed to work. All it needed to do was get Waverwell through this disease outbreak and get Ashley Baok and Alaska Wendell March justice.

"You can do this, Cynthia. Keep breathing. Nothing has broken you, and you have survived every hurdle. And you have Charlotte Waver, the strongest woman you know, at your side. You can do this." She laced her fingers together, then stretched her arms out in front of her until her knuckles cracked.

"Let's do this."

xxxx

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The first step of Cynthia's plan came far more easily than the rest did, if only because Larson Hotch was the one who reached out first.

He wanted to meet, and Cynthia had a free block in her afternoon after Gabriella told her of a scheduling conflict. A meeting that was supposed to happen that day for a massive lawsuit over a proposed apartment complex in Dal got moved to the following week.

And so, a few hours later, Larson Hotch sat across from Cynthia. The windows in the President's Room were open, and his chair had been placed further back, roughly halfway between Cynthia's desk and the doorway.

He ran his fingers over his mustache as he pondered her words— what updates can you tell me about? It was an action Cynthia was familiar with— it was commonly used in Waverwell government. One would use it when piecing together a response that answered the question but gave away only what one wanted to reveal and carefully sealed away everything that one wanted to keep hidden.

Cynthia felt both frustrated and understanding of that. Larson needed to keep his case against the Trinity safe, but she wanted answers. She wanted to know what had happened to Ashley Baok and Alaska Wendell March.

If she had laid awake during those sleepless nights, what about Kristin Baok? What about Kansas Sampson March? If the murders of Ashley and Alaska were eating her up, what were they doing to those who were their closest friends and family?

Cynthia couldn't imagine it.

"Kristin Baok brought in a journal written by Ashley Baok yesterday," Larson said, expression hidden behind a veil of neutrality.

Cynthia's eyebrows rose. It was the first she had heard of a journal. Something written by Ashley Baok.

That changed things. The answers it potentially held... well, that could be the needed key to break his case wide open and reveal the identities of those responsible. It could potentially answer the why in why his life was so callously taken away.

"We are looking into it as we speak." Larson answered her question before she could ask it.

"Have you found anything yet?"

"Not yet," Larson replied. "We are going through every entry and following any possible evidence we can get from the journal— clues in what Ashley wrote, anything that may offer potential locations he has been or people he may have talked with, etcetera. We are also looking into the Pockets of Gold and Silver book he published under the name of Caspian Lyon. It's still a lot of following up on every lead we get and pulling on every thread we can find as far as it will go. Asa and Azrael are currently at the lab with Ashley's journal to see if there's anything on it that doesn't belong— fingerprints, DNA, anything that may provide evidence the journal has been somewhere it shouldn't have."

"Kristin had the journal since Ashley's death, right?"

Larson sighed and nodded. "Yes, Kristin did have Ashley's journal. We're not hopeful that we will be able to get any useful DNA or fingerprints —as in DNA or fingerprints that do not belong to the Silverlight Forest Protection Unit— considering Kristin mentioned he held it with him to get some sleep, but it's a possibility so of course we are going to try."

"I hope you can get something."

"I do too."

"The Trinity needs to be caught," Cynthia murmured, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin atop them, elbows on the table. She then added, "I don't mean that in a you're not doing enough kind of way. I just want the Trinity off the streets before anyone else gets hurt. And also so they can be held accountable for their actions."

"I know what you mean. We're working around the clock, and we will get them. But I often wish investigations could move faster. Sometimes we get those cases where someone all but walks into the Precinct with a full confession and holds out their hands for the handcuffs, but sometimes we get people who just do not want to be caught and it's that much harder. The Trinity unfortunately falls into the latter category."

"Ashley's journal will help you, right?"

"Nothing is for certain in detective work. Only once you have irrefutable evidence can you really begin to piece together what happened. Before that it's much more speculation."

"Do you know yet?"

"What happened to Ashley?" It was a tactic Cynthia herself had used in the past— getting a few extra seconds by asking a question she already knew the answer to.

"Yes."

"We know some things, but not the whole picture. Think of it like a puzzle. Some parts are filled in, and some parts are still blank. But we will get the entirety of the puzzle, it just takes time, unfortunately."

"What about Alaska Wendell March? What about her case?"

"Alaska's case is an interesting one. The cases that do not follow the logic you think they would are always fascinating, but I would be thrilled if I never had another one of those. They are interesting ones to study, but it's real people you are looking at. Real families whose lives got destroyed, who got handed a life sentence they never deserved. Sure, it's always justice served when the killer gets a life sentence in prison, but there is no bringing back the person whose life got stolen. There is only so much justice that can be brought." Larson gave a sad smile as he stared off to the side, gaze distant.

And then he continued: "The last known person to see Alaska was her off-again-on-again boyfriend, Jason Starr. But he has a solid alibi for the time she was killed: He was working the whole afternoon and well into the night at the flower shop where they both were employed, F L O R A."

"It sounds like you think it might have been him," Cynthia found herself murmuring.

"He's the first person I looked at," Larson replied, "but a person cannot be two places at once. We're still keeping an eye on him in case he shares something with someone that he has not said to us yet."

There was something shifting in Cynthia's stomach. Some feeling she had felt again and again in the past, but some feeling she couldn't quite pin down.

What was going on?

"Are you any closer to finding the Trinity?"

Cynthia wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. She hoped Larson would say yes. Yes, they were closing in on the Trinity, they were preparing for the arrest, they had prepared three cells and were ready to throw away the key after a fair trial. Yes, the Trinity would soon no longer be a threat.

But she also knew if that were the case that she would've already had mountains of documents on her desk telling her everything. Reporters who caught the early break of the story would be talking non-stop. Everyone would know.

And no one had said anything.

She tried not to let it hit her too hard when the corner of Larson's mouth twisted into a sad smile and he shook his head ever so slightly. "I'm sorry," he said. "We're searching and we will not stop, but we are not quite there yet. They know we're hunting them down, and we will arrest them as soon as we can. But rest assured that when we arrest the Trinity, we know we have enough to convict them and lock them away for the rest of their lives."

"Do you know their identities?"

Larson shook his head again, and Cynthia tried not to take it to heart. Working as a Precinct officer was tough, and the Trinity were skilled at hiding themselves.

But not as good as the task force investigating them, Cynthia reminded herself. The Trinity would be caught.

"We don't know who they are yet, but we will find out. They won't get away with anything they've done."

Cynthia nodded her head in agreement. "They won't get away with anything."

She knew murderers existed. There had been a handful in Waverwell's history. Evil people who committed unthinkable crimes.

But she was far more familiar with the murderers from television— the quiet loner, the attractive smooth-talker, the short-tempered son. The ones she could guess at from having figured out the patterns of the shows. The ones she knew would be caught quickly, always by the end of the episode or by the end of the season. The ones she never needed to worry about because they were actors on a set.

No one was hurt, none of it was real, everyone would wipe off the makeup and take off the costumes and go home at the end of the day.

Not once would Cynthia have guessed that she would have to deal with a group of murderers in real life, not in one of those quiet evenings with Charlotte where the two of them were sitting on the edge of the couch, trying to figure out who the culprit was before the tv detectives did.

"Whatever you need," Cynthia reminded Larson, "just let me know. It is yours. The Trinity will be caught."

"I know," he replied, glancing down at his phone when it buzzed. "Thank you. I will be in touch. Azrael just messaged me, and it's urgent."

Cynthia stood up and gestured to the door. "I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me and give me an update in-person. Don't let me keep you— whatever Azrael said, I'm sure it's important."

"Of course. I wasn't quite sure what the protocol is with the President."

Cynthia shrugged. "So long as you're respectful and you've got a good reason, I won't be offended. Everyone has work, and sometimes, in cases like this, it's very, very important."

Larson nodded, pushing his chair back up against the wall of the President's Room where it was before the meeting.

"I'd normally shake your hand here," he said, "but I don't think we're supposed to."

"No, we're not supposed to."

"Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day."

"You too," Cynthia replied.

"Oh," Larson said, turning around as he stood in the doorway of the President's Room. "And I don't think I have to tell you to keep Ashley's journal to yourself? I don't want that news getting out before we're ready."

Cynthia shook her head. "I won't tell a soul."

Larson held her gaze for several long moments, and there was an edge to it. A hardness, a determination. Something that told Cynthia that he knew more than he had said.

Maybe it was just that feeling of desperation gnawing at her insides, maybe it was just her imagination seeing what she wanted to see. Maybe it was just some little fluttering bird of hope praying that this would all be over soon, even though a President didn't pray and it would never be over for Ashley Baok or Alaska Wendell March because they would never wake up and their friends and family would never get to escape the nightmare as easily as setting down the newspaper or turning off the tv. It was a life sentence for them.

Or maybe it was just Cynthia's subconscious wanting to placate her and make her feel ok.

But maybe it wasn't. She didn't know, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Ignorance was bliss, but a President never got to have that luxury.