Game Changer Read Online Free PDF Page A

should have worked. Even now, much of what
happened was lost to Quinn forever, or hazy and unformed, like the fleeting
images of Davinroy striking his wife with a poker, and of her limp and lifeless
body. But perhaps this was a mercy. Perhaps this loss of clarity wasn’t due to
the memory drugs at all, but instead was his psyche’s way of sparing him
further agony.
    But the fact that he now remembered much of the incident
quite well was nothing short of a miracle.
    And the part he remembered most vividly of all was that he
had sworn not to rest, not even in his grave, until he had personally escorted
Matthew Davinroy into the bowels of hell.
    And this was a promise he was now seconds away from keeping.

 
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    Quinn had considered going to the press, telling them what
had happened, but had decided against it.
    Davinroy was just too smooth, and too careful.
    Ironically, politicians could be taken down by just the hint
of a politically incorrect statement, but otherwise could get away with murder,
literally, and a president, sitting atop the food chain, was the ultimate
example of this. A president had too many connections, too many powerful friends,
with too much to lose if he were taken down. The reputation of the United
States itself would take too big a hit. The entire country would close ranks to
protect him.
    Any evidence found would be hidden from view or erased. Even
if it wasn’t, it would only be circumstantial. It would be Quinn’s word against
the president’s. He was making the same calculations Nicole had made before
him.
    And Quinn’s accusations would seem absurd. A grieving husband, losing his wife and child at the president’s
retreat in mysterious circumstances, accusing the president, so charismatic and
charming, of the inconceivable atrocity of torturing and killing a trusted
advisor.
    And even if Quinn were able to prove it, which he thought
highly unlikely, he had promised Davinroy death ,
and no lesser sentence would do. Davinroy had taken everything from him.
    Quinn watched Dan Oakland making his way back to the group
the president was in with mounting anticipation. Oakland handed each guest
their cocktail of choice, including Davinroy. When the president was holding
his drink and Oakland was receding into the crowd once again, Quinn allowed
himself to feel a single moment of elation.
    Nothing would ever bring Nicole back, true, but no one had
ever needed to be erased from existence more than Matthew Davinroy.
    “This is the new sensation I was telling you about, Anne,”
said Davinroy, nodding at his wife, his every word continuing to come through
Quinn’s earpiece with great clarity.
    Davinroy elevated his right hand, drink included, until it
was level with the First Lady’s eyes. Others in the group looked on with great interest.
“What would you call that color?” asked the president. “Electric neon blue?”
    “Wow. That’s a tough one,” said the First Lady. “I can’t even
decide if the color is appealing,” she added with a charming smile, “or just freaky.”
    The president grinned. “It is unusual, no denying that,” he
said. “But that’s one of the things I like about it. But, of course, you don’t
choose a cocktail based on its color. It happens to also be incredibly tasty,
but in a way that is so unique I can’t describe it.”
    “I’ve had these myself, Mr. President,” said Jessica
Pospisil, president of Sony Pictures. “And I couldn’t agree more.” She shook
her head. “Although I wish they would have chosen a more grown-up name for it
than Portuguese Nectar Vector,” she added in amusement.
    “I can’t argue with that,” said the president with a warm
smile. He turned to his wife once again. “Give this a try,” he said. “If you
like it as much as I think you will, it’s yours. I can get another.”
    Quinn’s stomach clenched as he listened to this exchange and
he suddenly felt light-headed.
    Impossible!
    How could this be? No