Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“I don’t understand!” Reagan shouted to no one in particular, slamming his fist down onto the conference room table.

Reagan checked his pocketwatch, once belonging to his father, and thought of something the man used to say, "Everyone has their trials. It’s how we handle them that defines who we are.”

They had been at it for hours and the sun had long since set. Eva had called in Ryan Davis, a senior adviser on the campaign, and the three were scouring each and every database they could think of, trying to assess the damage.

Every single device seemed to have been hacked. Between the trio remained a mere two functioning laptops. Every other screen in the office no longer served any purpose other than to remind them of just how screwed they were.

Stress was high, not just because of the mountains of information they had to comb through, but merely existing in the office itself felt like yet another trial. To say the building was hot would be an understatement. The odor of the half eaten Chinese food began to permeate the air, the meal purchased by Eva when they learned that their financial situation had drastically changed.

Eva pulled her hair back with a band she’d kept in her desk, destroying the perfectly coiffed curls she’d meticulously arranged that morning. Sweat poured down everyone’s foreheads, as they stared into the monitor, hoping to suddenly stumble upon a way to correct the damage that had been done.

With a huff, Reagan used a napkin to wipe the sweat from his brow from the hot room. “Not only would it save you money, sir, but it’s good for the environment.” he muttered mockingly.

Reagan was certain this breach was the fault of “that blasted hippie intern” lamenting the installation of a smart thermostat at the insistence of one of his junior staffers, who he planned to fire whenever he could manage to pull the situation out of the nosedive it was in. It did save them a lot in facility costs, but that mattered little right now with the ripe smell in the air. The smart thermostat was costing him, personally and financially, tenfold now that the hackers had not only drained Reagan’s bank accounts, but also his campaign funds, and they even broke the air conditioning on their way out. Everyone was miserable, Eva slightly less so since she was the only one not wearing any pants.

The official site was now happy to announce that the surplus campaign funds were donated to the ACLU, as well as dozens of various grassroots LGBTQ organizations, and food banks across the state. Fundraising would continue, but Reagan Demir was making it part of their mission to give a hand up to those that need it, or at least that’s what the webpage declared.

Reagan’s personal bank account had nearly, in its entirety, been drained into an offshore holding that neither him, nor the financial crimes unit of the FBI would ever be able to access. The scant few dollars that remained had all been spent, signing Reagan Esen Demir up for dozens of magazine subscriptions such as Southern Living, Cosmopolitan, and Vogue. Not only magazines, but also apparently he would be receiving not just one, but several different monthly makeup subscription boxes. Lipstick of the month club, fragrance of the month club - the list kept going with different clothing and shoe subs as well.

The exhausted politician hoped he could at the very least recoup a few thousand dollars once he got those services canceled, but for that to happen he needed to regain access to his accounts. This they had yet to manage, due to the time of day. Even worse, they’d learned all of his passwords, and security questions had been changed. Reagan had no idea how some group, represented by a childish cartoon koala, could screw him so fully. What he found most repugnant was that the website now proudly announced his coming out as a transgender woman, and that going forward Reagan Demir would be living her true life while continuing to fight for what the people needed most.

While he was locked out of his amazon account, the notifications continued rolling in. The hackers, under Reagan’s name, purchased dozens of new outfits - high quality dresses, skirts, and blouses in every color and style one could imagine. Add to that enough shoes to not only fill his closet, but possibly Eva’s as well. There was a new jewelry box being delivered, accompanied by enough pieces to stuff it to the brim. With everything on the way, and more coming in the months to follow, he’d be up to his neck in feminine attire if the attackers had their way.

“How the fuck could you have let this happen, Ryan?!” Reagan knew that the boy, as he thought of him despite only being four years older, wasn't at fault for what happened, but he was also not making any headway, and with all the stress he was managing his emotions as well as a toddler. Reagan rationalized that he had every right to be angry. His money was gone. His dream was falling over the edge in slow motion, right in front of him, and he couldn’t do anything but sit and watch.

Standing up, Ryan rubbed the bridge of his nose where his glasses normally perched, his anxiety was through the roof. In college he did a little work in some local election campaigns, enough to make him feel at least a little secure in applying for a senior position with an up and coming politician in Florida, trying for a seat in the Senate. Any doubts were put to the side after his girlfriend, Candi, told him she believed in him.

The pair dated when he took a gap year after high school to decide what he wanted to do with his life, and they had a wonderful summer romance. Later on, when he ran into her on campus one day, it felt like everything was happening for a reason, like it was some sort of movie. Now though, with the impossible task in front of him, he wasn’t so sure this was the path he should have taken. Ryan stood. hoping to step outside for some fresh air before he reacted to what his boss was saying instead of handling him like the child people who craved power could be. When he turned around though, Reagan was right there behind him, already in his face.

Reagan glared up at the taller man. The very fact that he had to wrench his head back to look up into Ryan’s eyes made him even angrier. The young politician had never been comfortable with unpleasant emotions. Keeping them in check was a talent. Being the only one in the room with ice in his veins instilled a feeling of control. When the bottom fell out, and that feeling was lost, normally a person could latch onto one of two emotions before acting. They could be sad about it, or they could be angry about it. From there it was just a matter of acting or wallowing in that emotion. Reagan chose anger. Anger made him feel like he was actually doing something about it regardless of how powerless he actually was.

According to the state’s websites, every single legal document they could check had been altered. He had essentially been robbed, and the only two people he could get on the phone at the clerk of the court had done little else besides take turns transferring the call back and forth between them. Internally he made himself a promise that when he was elected he would be making some changes, real changes to fix this type of nightmare.

Ryan wasn’t confrontational by nature. Often, he just went with the flow and at times people could think of him having a timid nature, but that was misleading. He knew he had to stand his ground, at least to a point, and set realistic expectations, if he hoped to have a job whenever his employer's tirade was over. With a clumsy smile, he offered, "Mr. Demir, what is happening to you is bullshit if you don't mind me saying. I have a lead I'm following up, and will get that information to you as soon as I have it. What are you going to do when you catch the people that did this to you?"

Reagan wanted to continue to chew him out, but Ryan was just too agreeable. Again, this made him even angrier. He clenched one hand into a fist. He could just imagine punching the boy - the taller boy - the boy that wasn’t that much his junior, who had not only broad shoulders, but from what Eva said, after vetting his facebook page, a quote, “killer body”.

None of that quelled Reagan’s rage, but it did remind him of the only time he was ever an aggressor in a fight. His little sister Callie was being a complete brat. He didn’t exactly remember what the fight was over, but she was swatting him, so he popped her back. Reagan only hit her once, but she fell to the ground, bawling her eyes out. It gave him a smug kind of happiness, thinking she wouldn’t ever do it again, but as she continued crying he started to panic at the idea of getting in real trouble.

Trouble found him, but not in the parental way. No, instead his eldest sister, Heather, had grabbed him by the collar and pinned him up against the wall. Reagan hadn’t just let her do it, but struggling didn’t change the fact that she pressed him up against the wall before socking him in the gut. The wind knocked out of him, he fell to the ground as soon as she let go. Not a word was said, but his other older sister Vicki watched it all happen, squatting down beside him after, telling him he needed to be smarter next time there would be a much harsher lesson. Since then, all he could ever do was shout at a problem.

“What good are you?!”

“Calm down, now, Rey.” Eva said bluntly as she met his blue eyed gaze. “He’s doing the best he can. It’s not his fault you’re a woman now. What could he possibly do about it that we haven’t already tried?”

“I’m not a…” Reagan started to shout, but before he could completely boil over, he bit his tongue. He threw his arms up dramatically before grabbing for his keys off of the desk, fumbling a few times in his frustration. “You know what?” His words were now a whisper, the words more for himself than anyone else, but they kept their edge. “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

The drive across Tallahassee was quiet in the late hour. It gave little distraction from his ever growing torment. He spent the time rehearsing his interaction whenever the DMV opened. He’d walk in with a smile. The clerk would be waiting in the best possible mood, since they wouldn’t have the stress of the workday fresh on their backs. He’d learn their name long enough to make an impression, and with a simple, friendly, and persuasive explanation his little issue would be solved. At least that’s how he drew it up.

A cursory glance at the clock after pulling into the parking lot told Reagan it was just after four-thirty in the morning, leaving almost three and a half hours before the Florida Department of Motor Vehicles unlocked its doors. At first, he continued to rehearse his delivery, adding in a little variation in some of the scenarios he ran through in his head, how someone might argue with him, and how he would verbally parry away any contrary retort. He could only repeat the same thing so many times though before, in a rare occurrence, he was sick of the sound of his own voice.

So, sitting there in his car in silence, he looked down at his phone that sat in the passenger seat next to him. The sun had just started to peek over the trees. He didn’t have to wait too much longer, but he wouldn’t be able to do it standing on his head.

‘Just to relieve a little stress.’ Reagan thought to himself, as he typed his pin, and opened an incognito window in the browser.

A quick visit to Pornhub was in order. Reagan typed in his credentials, while searching out the window for any sign of another human being. Upon reaching the homepage he was welcomed with an unfamiliar sight. Instead of the plethora of BDSM videos he was used to seeing after logging in, he was now scrolling through video after video with titles like, Sissy learns to suck nine-inch cock, and Fucked in the Ass by Big Tittied Trannie. A few bondage videos were in the mix, but there wasn’t a single vagina to be found in any of them. Just dicks and more dicks, regardless of how much he scrolled.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” he muttered to himself. The hackers had not only accessed all of Reagan’s personal info, and bank account information, but they’d even broken into the account of every single porn subscription he believed he’d squirreled away from the rest of his meticulously cultivated online presence. They even left his current password in place, only for anything pornographically adjacent, so he could see the results himself. The algorithm now only steered him toward videos featuring transgender women, and a few other related kinks.

‘What the hell is **** feminization?’ Reagan asked the empty vehicle.

Any appetite for the lewd was long gone after seeing what was being offered. He closed the browser, and dropped his phone, not really caring where it landed. Now with little else to do, he tried to find a position resembling comfort to get a little sleep. The most he could achieve was nodding in and out for the next couple of hours, the events of the previous day haunting him, leaving the normally collected man even more frazzled, as yet another thing was out of his control.

By the time the sign hanging on the door of the DMV flipped from closed to open, Reagan couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. He hurried inside, noticing the bitter taste of morning breath while he tried to straighten his tie without a mirror. It wasn’t till he was sitting down after taking a number, something he still had to do despite him being the only customer in the building, that he realized his blazer had wrinkled horribly, bunched up behind him while he slumbered in the driver seat. His stubble scraped his wrist as he went to move his hair from his eyes, since the gel that usually kept it slicked back had mostly dissipated before he’d even left the office.

For what felt like an eternity, he **** his exhausted form to remain upright, his arms crossed uncomfortably while he waited for a voice to say the number “one” over the loudspeaker. For brief instances, he’d imagine how nice it would be to just let go for a moment, and slip into unconsciousness. His eyelids would flutter, and all the muscles in his neck would seem to give up simultaneously, only to spring back to life once he felt the sensation of his chin speeding toward his chest.

At last, someone was walking through the door and approaching their station behind their sectioned desk. ‘Alright!’ Reagan thought, as he practically leapt from his seat, and made his way toward the employee, only to have the little old woman hold her hand up, and tell him to wait for his number to be called.

Nodding his understanding Reagan did as he was told, but in reality he couldn’t see what difference it would make. The elderly lady behind the counter seemed to be moving in slow motion as she typed away at the keys of her little all-in-one machine, her expression flat and unchanging. Eventually, after Reagan approximated that she’d pressed every key on her keyboard at least once for no discernible reason other than to take as much time as possible, she placed her hand on the long microphone sticking up from the corner of her desk, and moved it towards her face.

Reagan started to stand and approach the desk again, but once she’d adjusted the device to her liking, she resumed typing again, and Reagan sat right back down, unable to keep the **** smile on his face. Gripping the armrest as he exhaled, he waited once more, ready to jump into action when she finally shot her metaphorical starting gun into the air. Seemingly satisfied with whatever she had been doing, the woman finally placed her hand on the little button on the base of the mic and pressed it.

“Number one.” The words echoed through the little office for no one to hear, save the two.

“Yes, hello.” Reagan greeted, already halfway to the desk. He squinted to read the thin gold nameplate on the edge of the desk. “How do you do…Irma? My name is Reagan, Reagan Esen Demir. I’m actually running for Senate. Maybe you’ve heard of me.” he said, trying a disarming smile. “Anyway, I could really use your help today. It seems there’s been a mistake. Someone has gone and altered my records, and…”

“License please.” Irma said in the same matter-of-fact bland tone she’d said it one-hundred times a day, five days a week for the previous thirty years.

“Of course.” Reagan replied, fumbling in his pocket for his wallet. “Do I need to start over or…”

“License please.” she said once more without properly facing the blonde man standing at her counter, her eyes never leaving her monitor.

“Right.” Reagan said, his words terse, one of the rare examples of him allowing his inner thoughts to leak out. Inwardly seething at the sheer volume of disrespect the crone seemed to have for him, he handed her the little plastic card, and watched with gritted teeth. He tapped his foot impatiently, while she entered his information into the system one letter at a time.

After just a few moments, Irma stopped and removed a pair of scissors from her desk drawer. She said, “This ID has been altered. I can’t let you leave here with it, Miss Demir.” and then cut the legal document in half, before stuffing it into the shredder resting across the top of her little waste basket.

“It’s not Miss Demir, It’s Mister Demir, obviously.” Reagan said, his voice slightly louder, any semblance of politeness having gone out of the window. “Just look at my beard. Do I look like a woman to you? Clearly, someone has altered my records, and I need you to fix it, so do your goddamned job!”

If Irma had heard one patron go off in a fit of rage, then she’d heard them all. In her experience, unless they were sixteen years old, people rarely left the DMV happy. None of that was her concern. She’d long ago learned to spend her days on a far off beach sipping mojitos while her unhappy customers loosened their tirades at her body. Monotone as always, she said “I’m sorry ma’am but the system says what it says. If you feel anything is in error, then you have to take it up with the main branch. If you’ll fill out this form, I can send your information along, and they’ll get back to you at their earliest convenience.”

“That’s nonsense! Clearly the system is wrong! Just change it already!” Reagan was yelling so loud, his voice was starting to crack.

Narrowing her eyes Irma took a second look at the information on her screen. The old program with its black background and green text read just as she said. “I’m sorry ma’am but the system says what it says. If you feel anything is in error, then you…”

“Don’t just repeat yourself, goddammit!” Reagan couldn’t believe she would just cut his driver's license in half before throwing it away, all because whatever was on her screen said it wasn’t accurate. It was the system that was the problem, not his ID.

“I’m going to need you to take it down, or we can discuss this outside.” a uniformed officer shouted from his desk by the door. “Thank you.” The boom in his voice told Reagan that was a threat better left unchallenged.

Looking at the policeman, Reagan gulped before turning back to the woman who looked like she should have retired at least a decade ago. “Just tell me what the hell you can do for me, then.” Reagan said before wiping the sweat from his brow with the palms of his hands, and taking a deep breath.

Tapping a few keys on her keyboard, Irma, still not bothering to look at the person she was talking to, flipped between a few screens. “For thirty dollars we can print out a replacement with the information we have in the system. I’ll need to take a new photo though, if you want to take a minute and fix your makeup before, there’s a mirror hanging up right over there.”

“You’re kidding me. Why would I need…? Nevermind. I don’t need a license that says female when I’m clearly a man.”

“Well then, unfortunately, ma’am, you won’t be able to drive out of the parking lot without a valid driver’s license, or Officer O’Grady will have to pull you over, and arrest you before you’ve made it down the block.”

“You know what…” For just a moment Reagan started to lose it again before realizing that wasn’t going to end in any way where he wouldn’t have to deal with yet another uncomfortable legal situation, and then his political dreams would really be dashed. The way things were going, he assumed the police would throw him into the women’s jailhouse, and his opponent would have a field day in the press.

“Have a nice day.” he said, venom dripping from every word, before he stormed out into the parking lot, and sat in his car.

He was halfway tempted to start the engine and drive off, but the cop watching his every move at the building's entrance told him that was a bad idea. He had no money beyond the few dollar bills in his wallet, so an Uber was out of the question. Trying to think of something to do, his exhausted mind came up with the idea of contacting the powerful people in his address book. The problem was he didn’t know anyone that could fix this particular problem, it wasn’t like he could call up the mayor. No, that man would never take his call. Right now, Democrats and Republicans were like oil and water. With no other options, he dialed the number of his campaign manager.

“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you this disheveled.” Eva said, after Reagan collapsed into the passenger seat of her compact car and held his face in his hands.

“Took you long enough.” he said spitefully, after Eva started to pull out of the parking lot, prompting her to stop the car in the middle of the road, and glare at him in disbelief.

“Cul ingrat.” she said, coldly, calling him an ungrateful ass. Reagan knew he had messed up when she started insulting him in French. “I can’t believe you. Here I am, on my own time, driving you home, and you can’t even say thank you. Talk about a selfish asshole.”

“Please don’t start, Eva.” Reagan began, rubbing his temples, his head pounding after a night with no real sleep.

“Don’t start?” she shot back, unable to believe his audacity. “If you have a problem with it, you can get out and walk the rest of the way. Frankly I don’t care either way. Do you realize that your campaign can no longer afford to pay me that extravagant salary bump you promised? You can’t even afford to keep paying me what you were. I’m half tempted to drop you off and leave you to wallow in your misery.”

“Why don’t you?” he asked pathetically. It had taken deconstructing every aspect of his life and leaving him with no recourse but to scream into the heavens, but Reagan was finally ready to admit defeat. “If I’m such a shit boss, and there’s no money, then why are you even here? Is it to humiliate me even further? Seriously, what are you doing? By now I’m sure I’m the top story on every network. I’m the laughingstock of the republican party. The democrats are going to eat me alive, and this is Florida for fuck’s sake, I’m screwed. If you had any sense, you’d unhitch your wagon before I drag you off the cliff with me.”

“Are you done whining, Rey?” Eva asked without a hint of sympathy. “You can do nothing, and we can all go home, and you can drink yourself to ****, or…” Reagan had finally lifted his gaze from the floorboard and turned to Eva. “...or you could go home, get some sleep, dust yourself off, and trust your campaign manager to handle this.”

“You’re still my campaign manager?” Reagan asked. He thought she sounded sincere, but he couldn’t reconcile it with what he’d do in her position. “Why would you stay with me?”

“Because I believe in you, Reagan. You’re one of the best public speakers I’ve ever met. The only thing that exceeds your charm is your ruthlessness - your tenacity. It’s not about the money. Look, I believe we could accomplish great things together, but the first step is getting you elected. Just trust me. It’ll take some time and some fixing, but we can salvage this. Go home and get some rest.” She started driving again, while digging through purse, and pulling out a stick of gum, offering it to her boss. “...and for god’s sake, brush your teeth.”

Reagan took the gum and slipped it between his lips. He wanted to believe Eva, but he knew his campaign was over. Her words reminded him that they were friends long before they worked together and it was nice that she, at least, pretended to believe in him. Perhaps he could disappear into obscurity; maybe get a job in the private sector. His legislative aspirations would be just another one of those anecdotes people would laugh about for a few years until he was all but forgotten, a footnote in the history books. Whatever the case, he’d be lying down and sleeping for as long as his body would allow.