Phil Williams - 2050 - Psycho Island

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“It’s not safe.”

Javier chuckled. “This is such bullshit.”

Mark glared at Javier. “Part of me wishes it was. This is serious.”

“How did your sister get the video?” Summer asked.

“I gave her a nanocamera and a mike to install, and she did it.” Mark talked faster now. “I mean, I never thought she’d actually do it.”

“What’s on the video? What did they say?” Connor asked.

“Basically, Jacob Roth offered to help Naomi Sutton win the presidency by giving her campaign a ton of money. She actually asked him what he wanted in return.”

“I don’t think she’s even announced,” Summer said.

“She hasn’t,” Mark replied.

“That’s crazy. What did Roth want from her?” Connor asked.

“He wanted her to tax Thorium Unlimited 90 percent, and he wants her to continue with the Federal Reserve charter.”

“What did she say to that?”

“She actually told him that she’d rather lose with her integrity intact.”

“I told you she was for real,” Javier said, grinning ear to ear.

“The Fed charter makes sense,” Connor said, “but why would the Roths want high taxes on Thorium Unlimited?”

“Thorium Unlimited is one of the most profitable corporations in the world,” Mark said. “More important, they have no debt.”

“I’ve seen a video of their CEO, Truman Bradshaw, talking shit about the Federal Reserve,” Javier said.

“I think Thorium Unlimited is trying to establish an energy-backed cryptocurrency to usurp the power of the central banks.”

On the screen, Randal Montgomery announced his candidacy for president. He smiled and spoke in platitudes about restoring integrity and service to politics. The Democratic congressman from South Carolina was a tall blond, with a matching mustache. His round glasses, striped suit, and hokey grin exuded white privilege.

Naomi grabbed the remote from the coffee table and muted the OLED television. Vernon sat on the couch next to her in her congressional office. The afternoon sun glowed orange through the windows.

“I’ve had this sinking feeling in my stomach since this morning,” Naomi said. “Do you think I made a mistake turning him down?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Vernon replied. “We could definitely use the money. That’s some serious old-banking money you turned down.”

Naomi frowned. “Don’t remind me.”

Vernon smiled that perfect smile. “I’m proud of you. What you did wasn’t politically smart, but it was the right thing to do. That’s why I believe in you, and that’s why the people will believe in you.”

“But they’ll never know about it.”

“Two years from now, people will know who you are and what you stand for.”

Naomi nodded. “I hope so.” She pointed toward the muted screen. “You think we have anything to worry about with Montgomery?”

Vernon shook his head. “When was the last time we had a white guy as the Democratic nominee?”

“Not since 2020.”

“That definitely won’t change with Montgomery. He could be an excellent running mate though.”

Naomi giggled. “We’d make quite the pair. The white moderate and the black socialist.” That description reminded Naomi of her husband, Alan. He was a white moderate when they met, but she’d radicalized him over the years.

“I’m serious. To win we’ll need the moderates. His presence will help appease those people.”

“That’s a good point. But I’m sure he’d rather jump on the Corrinne Powers bandwagon.”

“We’ll see.”

Naomi glanced at Vernon, then to the door. “Did you lock it?”

Vernon pursed his full lips and raised his eyebrows. “Why would I need to do that?”

Naomi kicked off her heels, stood from the couch, and smoothed her skirt suit. She stood in front of Vernon. He leaned forward in his seat and ran his hands up her legs, smiling as he moved past her thigh-highs and beyond. She gasped, letting him play with her; then she placed her hand on his chest and pushed him so he leaned back again.

Naomi spread his legs apart and kneeled on the hardwood between them. She placed her hand on his crotch, squeezing his bulge. Their gazes locked. His, dark and unblinking. One eye a little droopier than the other. His single flaw, which only served to make him more beautiful. Hers, brown and searching, eagerly soaking up every inch, every detail. These brief moments with him made her life worth living.

The sun rose over the horizon. This morning, Derek and the boys had already been working for two hours by tractor light. Over the past four days, Derek had worked eighteen hours per day. He was sore and exhausted, running on adrenaline. He’d barely had time to call his mother. The boys had worked right alongside him, quitting a little earlier each night at Derek’s urging but still logging in a solid twelve hours of work each day.

Derek placed another orange in the large pocket of his apron. His lower back ached from the weight, and the skin around his shoulders was irritated by the apron straps. Ignoring the pain, he moved up and down the ladder, filling the apron. Once full, Carlos set a box by the ladder, and Derek filled the box. Carlos moved the full box to the tractor, then worked on picking oranges from the low branches. Ricky was in the understory, picking up and boxing loose oranges. At this point, everyone knew their role very well, so they worked in silence, like a machine.

A car approached in the distance, dust from the gravel road in its wake. From his vantage point near the top of the ladder, Derek looked over the treetops as the car stopped at the farmhouse. April exited the vehicle with a little suitcase on wheels. Derek smiled to himself and climbed down the ladder.

“I’ll be right back,” Derek said to the boys.

“I heard a car,” Ricky said.

“It’s my girlfriend, April.”

Carlos deadpanned, “Is she hot?”

Derek chuckled to himself. “She’s very pretty.” He walked across the rows of fruit trees toward the farmhouse. The car pulled away, leaving April standing in the driveway with her suitcase. She wore athletic shorts, an old T-shirt, sneakers, and a straw hat on her head that looked brand new. As he approached, he said, “This is a nice surprise.”

She smiled wide and asked, “Need a hand?”

“You know what you’re gettin’ yourself into?”

“Picking oranges?”

Derek kissed her on the cheek, then the mouth. He stepped back, appraising her, then glancing at her Claddagh ring. The heart and the hands were facing inward now.

“Don’t you have to work today?”

“I called in sick.”

Derek gazed into her blue eyes and said, “Thank you.”

She grinned and placed her hands on her hips. “You like my farming outfit?”

“Looks more like a runnin’ outfit with a straw hat, which nobody wears by the way. But you do look beautiful.”

She looked him over. “You look tired.”

Derek nodded. His jeans and T-shirt were dirty, and his John Deere hat had seen better days. “Somethin’s been botherin’ me, and I should’ve asked you about it when you were at the hospital, but I guess I didn’t wanna know the answer.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I was, uh, just wonderin’ about your ring.”

“My Claddagh ring?” April touched the ring reflexively.

“Yeah. It was turned out at the hospital, but now it’s turned in. I was just wonderin’ how you feel about me. I know I’m not the best catch in the sea, but do we have a future?”

April stepped closer and pressed her lips to his, wrapping her arms around him. They disengaged, and she said, “Does that answer your question?”