Page 3 of Booked for Theft

I expected to one day die for that.

The government did not like when the peons forced to live beneath them broke free of their fear tactics and defied their conditioning. It made their job harder.

It offered hope things might change.

Senator Thaddens didn’t leave me waiting long, and the man, middle aged with hair beginning to gray and well suited for playing an elf in some fantasy movie, offered a smile and held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Janette. Please come in.”

I shook hands with him, relieved when he opted against testing my strength. “I’m pleased to meet you. Thank you for being willing to see me.”

“Thank you for being able to come on such short notice. I’m sure you’ve been positively inundated with donation inquiries as of late. Libraries are fundamentally important, and while the circumstances bringing awareness of them are saddening, I’m glad to see your fine institution is benefiting.”

Ugh. Politics. Why did every word need to be a careful dance? Oh, right.

The United States government would kill us both if it suspected we worked against them.

“Hopefully, this won’t take up much of your time.”

The senator chuckled and gestured for me to come inside. “I have today put aside for you, so please don’t fret. It’s a nice change of pace. Discussing the needs of the New York Public Library is an excellent use of my time. How goes the renovations at your branch?”

I wouldn’t mention the bloodstains and the cleaning required to restore the stone to its former glory. I’d cringed upon realizing that someone still worked at getting everything out of the nooks and crannies on the exterior. The interior had fared better, having had all evidence erased within a week following Senator Godrin’s murder. “It’s going well. All floors are being worked on, but we’re focusing on the unused floors first. That will let us move in some new collections. We’ve been able to acquire some excellent vintage collections from a few sellers.”

As part of my ongoing work to trace the government’s betrayal of its people, I’d turned to yellowed pages ripe with age, struggling to isolate when it had begun the process of rewriting history. Thus far, I’d determined the serious rewriting to have begun well before I’d been born, starting with the censorship of books and knowledge.

The World Wars had been the first to be erased. The Civil War had followed soon after. According to modern American schoolbooks, World War I had been a European dispute with a central focus on economic warfare with minor skirmishes.

World War II had been predominantly a war between Germany and England over immigration issues.

There was no mention of the Holocaust, no mention of the millions of lives lost in concentration camps, no mention of the American men and women who’d fought on the side of the Allies. There hadn’t been any mention of the Axis, defusing any hope of children learning about the brutal realities of genocide.

Within a decade, Vietnam had likewise been erased; Americans had not rendered sufficient glory, I supposed.

History had, at the government’s hand, been rewritten so it could pursue its own causes.

The Civil War erasures made the most sense to me.

Once upon a time, half of Americans had risen up to free the African slaves imported into the country.

Like the Civil War, the history of racism in the United States had likewise been erased. The government’s efforts had done nothing to curb hatred between people of differing skin colors.

That came as no surprise to me.

A nation divided was a nation easily controlled and manipulated. When a frightening message was repeated with consequences, even if it was not the truth, people capitulated—and believed—the repetition to protect themselves. I understood that, and I worried I might be conditioned in such a way if I failed to maintain diligence.

Senator Thaddens made thoughtful sounds while leading me through his home to a spacious office. In some ways, the room seemed fit for a future president, featuring dark wood furniture with intricate carvings depicting ancient forests. At his inviting gesture to one of the leather seats in front of his desk, I leaned over for a closer look.

Phoenixes rising from their ashes among the trees and taking flight served as the primary theme.

What an interesting statement.

“Your office is beautiful.” I admired the floor to ceiling shelving loaded with books, and unable to resist, I began examining his collection.

“Thank you. Before I became a senator, I had put thought into becoming a librarian. Unfortunately for me, I failed a few key tests for becoming one.”

“You love books.” Finding people who wanted to serve the people more than read the books proved to be a difficult challenge. “If every librarian was an uncontrolled book reader with voracious ways, no work would ever be done.”

Senator Thaddens sat down, and he placed his hand on his desk, which drew my attention to a pair of pens nearby, both of which pointed at his phone.

What a clever, clever man.