Chapter 4: Secrets Are Currency in D.C.

I moved back to my Georgetown estate for good and put my team on the case. My chief of staff made the calls—background checks, credit pulls, you name it. In Washington, secrets don’t stay buried for long.

The house felt different—finally mine again. I ordered a top-to-bottom redecoration. Out went Robert’s reading chair, his humidor, that hideous fox hunt painting. The kitchen hummed with new appliances, my favorite lemon bars waiting on the counter.

But none of it made sense. Robert had hidden Linda for forty years—paid her bills, covered up a daughter, kept the story airtight. Why stage a public ambush now? What changed?

No matter how it played out, the Hastings family was ruined. We’d gone from D.C.’s power couple to tabloid fodder in an afternoon. The invitations would dry up, his firm would push him out. Mia, even with a trust fund and the Hastings name, couldn’t carry the legacy. She wasn’t even legitimate in the eyes of society.

Why the sudden push for recognition? Why blow everything up in front of half of Washington? There had to be more to this story. In Washington, secrets are currency—and someone just tried to cash out on mine. I intended to find out who.