Catherine walked through the Thanksgiving holiday in a trance. Mornings, she would take extra care with her makeup. But where was the concealer, the balm that would seamlessly blend with the black and blue of her psyche? she wondered. She sat across from the president in the dining room of the family quarters as he presided over a dinner of family and friends as if nothing had happened. She acted accordingly. And when they or staffers inquired if there were something wrong, she demurred, hinting at a sinus infection and the Severance investigation. And they nodded, not quite believing her but not able or willing to prove otherwise.
She fantasized about killing him. How might she do it? There were poisons that acted imperceptibly over time, weren’t there? Maybe nature would do the job for
