The Extortion of Forgiveness: Prologue - The Beginning of the End

Authors Note: This is the Prologue of my book, The Extortion of Forgiveness. As the chapter title explains, it was a beginning in many senses, as well as an end. It’s been over six and a half years since I typed the first word but now I believe I’ve found a stopping point – not an end – but a place to stop and rest. I hope you enjoy and feel free to share the link to my website. I’ll have the following chapters out soon.

***

The Tennessee state capitol sits at the highest elevation point in downtown Nashville. Its strategic location used by Union soldiers during the War Between the States remains the center of political power in Tennessee. Its commanding structure boasts stone columns and ornate marble floors—something its architect, William Strickland, was so enamored with he insisted on being buried within its walls upon his death. I dreamed of serving in the capitol for many years; its historic sense of wonder was never lost on me even as I made the weekly 200-mile drive from Memphis to Nashville. I still got goose bumps whenever it came into view.

In April 2009, I was in the middle of my ninth year as a Tennessee state legislator —six years in the state’s House of Representatives and three in the State Senate. Reaching this point in my political career had been challenging, but now I was on autopilot. After defeating an 18-year incumbent in the 2000 Republican primary and winning a lightly contested general election, only one other opponent had ever challenged me in an election; the Democratic nominee for the Senate seat whom I easily defeated in 2006. My district was one of the greatest Republican strongholds in the state. Given my conservative credentials — including a sparkling voting record and raw political skills, I was difficult to defeat; I knew it, and it showed. Every time I approached the towering capital, I felt as grand as it looked.

The Plaza, in contrast to the elegance of the capitol, seemed more like high school on steroids. Filled with legislative offices, committee rooms and a cafeteria, it was a whirlwind of activity during the session, full of legislative members, lobbyists, and visitors seeking to influence the issue of the day. The committee rooms were similar to classrooms, and like school, many a young or defenseless who had yet to learn the art of political hand-to-hand combat, were given quick lessons on how to survive multiple stab wounds – most of which were in the back. Between committee meetings, like students changing classes, the halls would cram with hundreds of people. The chatter consisted of the usual political banter and gossip, with both outright lies and the absolute truth being told — often in the same breath. However, April 8, 2009, the Plaza became a historical landmark of a different proportion — one that forever altered my life’s path.

As I got into my car for the short drive from my apartment to the Plaza, I couldn’t help but notice there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. When in session, members, staff, lobbyist and other insiders, typically start working late Monday afternoon through early Thursday afternoon when they scatter like birds, flying down interstates and highways on their way home. This schedule enables them to travel or work other jobs. Only a handful of members live close enough to Nashville to drive to their homes each night; the vast majority stay overnight in Nashville either in hotel rooms or apartments with other members.

My first two years in office I stayed in a hotel, but during the past few years I roomed with a fellow member from East Tennessee, DeWayne Bunch. Twenty-five or thirty other members also rented apartments in our complex. We didn’t spend a lot of time there. It really wasn’t much more than a place to sleep, shower and start the day anew. That morning I was in my car a few minutes before seven, ready to pull out of the complex when I my phone vibrated. I typically received 50 to 75 text messages a day during session, sometimes more. Unbeknownst to me, the first one I received would alter the norm.

As I reversed the car, I grabbed the phone from my waist; it was a 931 area code, a number I didn’t recognize. I’ll never forget the words of the incoming text:

“Good Morning sir. how you this fine day? McKensie and i have been talking and I feel that i have a video and some pictures you might be interested in seeing! This is her boyfriend that guy you met outside Walgreens. Contact me as soon as possible and have splendid day :-).”

My mind raced. Suddenly, my carefully constructed life began to disintegrate in front of my eyes. “Surely McKensie wasn’t a part of this,” I thought as I read the message for the first of several hundred times that day. I immediately recalled the conversation we had the week prior, where she talked about her ambitions and what she wanted to do with her life. How she had lamented how badly she wanted to correct her past mistakes and make something of herself.

McKensie Morrison, one of my legislative interns and I had been in a sexual relationship for five weeks. From what I knew of her, there was no way she would send at text like this or even take part in sending it with someone else. Or so I thought.

Staring at my phone I wondered if she’d told someone about our relationship? And if so, who? We had agreed upon the importance of keeping our relationship strictly between us; even the appearance of impropriety would damage us both.

Throwing the car into drive, I moved forward, but towards what, I no longer knew. A typical Wednesday schedule was lighter for me than other legislative workdays — a time to catch up on paperwork and correspondence, sometimes a floor session in the afternoon, a reception or two in the evening, and then dinner with other legislators and friends. This day was different.

I read the message again, wondering, hoping, that it was someone’s idea of a sick joke. My stomach tightened, and my thoughts raced a thousand miles an hour as I tried to grasp the situation. Who would send me this?

I felt numb. I was in shock. I didn’t know if I should call someone for help or just pretend it wasn’t happening. I was a public figure, an evangelical Christian who was active in my church, a Sunday school teacher, a father, and a husband. I knew my double life was betraying my faith and my family. As I drove, everything came into crystal clear focus. What if this got out? Would my entire career collapse? And most importantly, what would I say to my wife, Kristi?

I arrived at the Plaza, climbed the stairs, and quickly made my way to my office. The first to arrive, I walked through the reception area and into my personal office. I heard my own heart pounding as I closed the door. The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach bordered on nausea as I struggled to compose myself. My research analyst, Anna Richardson, arrived next and came in to say good morning. Anna was my first hire after I became chairman of the powerful Commerce committee; she was a smart and talented attorney, performing her job well in her first session. My assistant, Beth Chiles arrived a few minutes later. She’d walked alongside me for seven years and was an experienced legislative employee. Having worked at the Tennessee capitol for a number of years, she’d seen it all — at least until now. But, it wasn’t Beth or Anna that I wanted to see. I needed to talk to McKensie.

Like all interns who work at the legislature, McKensie started in early January and would work until April or May. McKensie was assigned to my office as a state intern. Unlike the local interns assigned to Shelby County legislators, state interns follow a different application process that goes directly through the state, and are then assigned to legislative offices. This was my first year with a state intern, as the additional responsibilities of being chairman of a committee afforded me the additional help. McKensie was an honor student at Austin Peay State University in Clarksville, Tennessee, and originally from Dickson, a small town about 25 miles west of Nashville. I was told that McKensie was the perfect candidate with outstanding grades, active participation in multiple student activities, and a professional appearance and demeanor. On her intern application, she stated that she wanted, “to learn about the functions of government at the state level from first-hand experience to expand my social network.”

McKensie walked through the door right at eight, the usual time for interns and staff to begin work, but something completely out of the norm for her. She was usually late. Despite our intimate relationship, McKensie knew I expected everyone to work hard and be on time. Her tardiness was a huge point of frustration for both Beth and Anna, and my repeated counseling on the need for punctuality had little impact on her behavior.

By the time she arrived, I needed to head towards the capitol for a statewide Republican women’s reception, yet I desperately needed to talk to McKensie. As soon as she entered the small, back room the interns used, I moved quickly, asking her to walk with me to the capitol. She was calm — too calm. She said nothing as she placed her bags on the floor and followed me out the door. Even though I found her demeanor odd, I still wasn’t convinced she knew about the text message.

We didn’t say much as we walked, primarily making small talk as we passed others in the crowded corridors. I routinely attended dozens of these events and especially enjoyed the Republican groups I visited. I anticipated that many of my earliest and biggest supporters would be at this event. What would they think if they knew I had been having an affair with one of my interns? And, more importantly, how could I have been so stupid? These and a million other thoughts raced through my mind.

As we got on the elevators at the end of the tunnel, I punched the first floor button, the capitol, instead of the second floor button, the legislative chambers and the location of the reception. McKensie noted our detour to the first floor and silently stared into my eyes. I wanted to ask her privately what she knew about the text.

As we exited the elevator, I saw that the Old Supreme Courtroom I had in mind was occupied. Turning right, I steered us toward the large, marble stairs that lead to the second floor. Instead of proceeding directly to the reception and greeting our hosts, I motioned for McKensie to follow me to the balcony on the east side of the second floor, just off of the sitting area next to the House chambers. She didn’t know where we were going, but I sensed she knew what was coming as we walked outside.

The downtown Nashville skyline shimmered as the sun’s rays reflected off of the glass panes encasing the high-rise office buildings, adding to the intensity of the moment. Normally, McKensie always smiled; I was used to her easy, flirtatious grin, her glasses seductively perched near the tip of her nose. But not this morning. She was as poised and cool as a cucumber. Her face, the tilt of her head, even the way she wore her glasses, was all business. I removed my Blackberry from my waist, clicked on the message and handed her the phone.

“What’s this?” I asked.

She attempted to seem perplexed and appear innocent, shaking her head from side to side slightly as she read the message. “I don’t…I don’t know what this is. I know someone broke into my apartment this past weekend and went through my stuff. Why would he do this?”

He? I thought. It was apparent she knew who “supposedly” broke into her apartment.

“What do you mean, someone went through your stuff?” I asked. “Why haven’t you told me about this? McKensie, this needs to be taken care of before it gets out of control.”

She looked at me and said nothing. So I pressed on.

“I don’t think you understand the consequences of this. It’s going to get out of hand real soon.”

She stood there silently, without a hint of emotion. There was no reply, no explanation. It was eerie. I searched her steely brown eyes for answers, yet she stared right through me. She was confident, yet antsy.

Unfortunately, there was little time for further discussion. I needed to be at the reception. McKensie followed me the short distance into the foyer in front of the Senate chamber. Once inside, I greeted the ladies, trying to act normal, hugging those from my home county and others I knew from around the state.

During my tenure as state Young Republican chairman in the mid-nineties I met many of these women during my statewide travels. My wife of 11 years, Kristi, who was a member of one of the clubs in Shelby County, usually attended this reception with me. This morning she wasn’t there. As I moved through the room, I acted as if it was just another morning in the capitol. I introduced several women to McKensie, not wanting to appear rude or without my usual display of the southern manners. McKensie smiled and made small talk, appearing at ease. I marveled that she could remain so composed, while I struggled to mask how distraught and agitated I felt. It wasn’t long before I couldn’t stand it any longer and I quickly excused myself saying that I had pressing business back in my office.

McKensie and I walked back to the Plaza, once again, exchanging phony pleasantries, greeting fellow legislators and staff along the way. At the same time, my mind started to process exactly what was happening and what next steps I needed to take. Just before passing through the doorway to my office suite, I turned to her and said, “McKensie, this has got to be brought under control.” Whether she didn’t understand, or just didn’t care, I didn’t know, but she only blinked and never said a word.

I returned to my office and closed the door, suddenly realizing how hard my heart was pounding. I needed to find a solution, but I couldn’t even begin to think of where to start. I tried to call an attorney friend back home, but he was in court and unavailable for the remainder of the day. I didn’t have a day to wait, or even another minute. I needed advice, right away. I walked out of my office and into a back room where I found McKensie alone.

“McKensie, you have got to tell me what is going on,” I pleaded.

“He’s dangerous,” she said.

“I want to see your phone,” I responded. It wasn’t a request. The stern look in my eyes said I was demanding it.

I was shocked when she handed it to me. She had been receiving text messages from him. And not just one message; multiple messages every few minutes.

He was Joel Palmer Watts, McKensie’s boyfriend.

“I love you bun,” was her first message to Watts at 7:42 a.m. that very morning. Now I knew she was involved, but to what extent?

“Joe Bun is a lover of white bunny more and everything is going to work out more baby. Be good 2 me. I c u soon,” Watts replied.

“Always been good, not gonna change now. See ya soon.”

“U so good 2 me joe bun! i good 2 u 2!” McKensie replied.

I went back to my office and called my friend Molly (whose name I have changed). I asked her to meet me as soon as she could at the Hermitage Hotel across the street.

The Hermitage is an historic and elegant downtown Nashville hotel that was recently restored to its original grandeur. It is an oasis for legislators and lobbyists at the end of the day — a Mecca for crafting political deals. As soon as I walked through the heavy, revolving doors leading into the outer lobby, my mind flashed back to the wedding reception Kristi and I attended there just two months prior—the last evening where we both really had fun together. It was the first weekend in February and two days before the legislature started in earnest. The reception was a grand affair and dozens of our political friends were there. There was a photo booth in the lobby that evening, similar to the ones you find in the mall or at a county fair. Kristi and I posed for several pictures, some with friends and some by ourselves where we kissed and smiled at each other. She looked stunning. But even with the gaiety of the event, deep down neither our hearts nor our minds were truly with each other that evening. That night has been a turning point for me. I could have traveled down another path, and I often wonder how life would be different had I made the better choice.

That morning, I walked up the stairs, through the lobby and up to the mezzanine level. Molly was not just a typical friend or lobbyist. I had many lobbyist friends, at least half of who were female, but she was different. I had been having an affair with her as well.

While I was with Molly, McKensie sent me another text.

“He just txt me remember 2 tell u hes not playing games and is willing to blow up all again. He has access 2 all I am n have. What the hell am I supposed 2 do? Where are you now?”

Not every member has extramarital affairs, far from it, but it is an easy trap to fall into if you lose sight of who you are. From the moment I was elected, my false sense of self-worth had taken hold of me. Over time, I felt invincible, more powerful, and received an inordinate amount of attention – attention most people, including myself, had never experienced. A second glance, a smile or touch that lingers for three or four seconds or a subtle text message can lead to opportunities that are difficult to resist. It’s not just the legislative environment where this occurs; affairs get started at corporate offices, neighborhood cookouts, just about anyplace. It’s easy to continue adultery once it begins. Once that moral line is crossed the first time, it just becomes easier and easier to keep going. I pushed the guilt to the back of my mind to the point that I thought I could control it. For a long time, I was immune from any feeling of guilt simply because I would not let myself acknowledge its existence.

My reason for calling Molly was simple — she knew about McKensie. But I also knew I could trust her to keep quiet. After all, I knew of her other affairs too; we were each other’s confidants in our impropriety. I sat at a table toward the back so I could see anyone walking through the front door. By now I was more than just a little paranoid, but when I saw Molly come through the door, I felt more secure.

Molly and I talked for about 30 minutes, discussing options on how I could handle this issue and contemplating which law enforcement agencies could best assist if that was a route I was willing to take. I had already made up my mind that McKensie was involved in this scheme to blackmail me. I figured she and her friend Joel were betting that I’d immediately give in to whatever their demands were. However, I had no intention of giving them a penny. If they were indeed co-conspirators they had underestimated me. As Molly and I wound up our meeting, McKensie sent another message:

“If this gets out I will lose everything. School my job my internship n my life 4ever. What do you want n what will make this stop?”

Lose everything? If I had a legal pad with me I could have made my own list as well. Let’s see, now what do I have to lose? My marriage, the chance to see my kids grow up on a daily basis, my reputation, my political career, many of my so-called “friends,” and opportunities for future employment. I couldn’t allow myself to think of all that I would lose.

“Sit tight and let’s go talk in a minute,” I texted McKensie.

I hoped that maybe – just maybe, McKensie had talked to Joel and told him this wasn’t a good game to play; that there was too much at stake – that we should all be reasonable. But that was wishful thinking.

I returned to my office and tried to take care of some business and return phone calls, but concentrating on any task for more than 15 seconds was nearly impossible. Lobbyists started to fill my office, and I had several appointments that I asked Beth to reschedule. I walked back into the intern office and made small talk with both of the interns who worked in my office. When situations were as chaotic as this, I knew everything had to appear normal. What I needed now was to get McKensie out of the office again in order to find another place we could talk privately.

She had continued to receive text messages from Joel, and, to my astonishment, she handed me her phone so I could read them. He was getting impatient — and his messages indicated he was not thinking clearly.

“Remember to let him know that I’m through playing games and am willing to blow it all up,” was his most recent text.

“Amazing, absolutely amazing,” was the first thought that crossed my mind. Is he willing to blow up everything – even for McKensie? This guy was acting like a suicide bomber walking into a crowded store, willing to take down everyone, including those he said he cared about unless his demands, or as I would find out later – his drug habits were met.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what my options were and how to resolve this. Looking at Joel’s messages, I made an important — some might say premature — decision to contact the authorities. But first, I replied to Joel: “You want to meet?”

I had no intention of actually meeting him alone, but I wanted to gage his reaction. I went back into my office, closed the door and looked up the number for the director of the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, Mark Gwyn. I called his office and asked how to reach him immediately. His assistant gave me his cell number. After I hung up, I sat there for a moment. There were several ways I could have handled this matter, but giving Watts or anyone money was an option I had ruled out. I wasn’t going to be backed into a corner. And if he or anyone else tried to force me into a tight squeeze, then I certainly would not have responded well to any type of threat. If I was forced to fight my way out I would, but I had no idea how much it would cost me and those I loved so dearly.

I looked around my office. Pictures of my wife Kristi and my two beautiful children, frames with certificates of congratulations and recognitions from various groups, and pictures of me with Congressmen, U.S. Senators, even a former President, stared back at me from the bookcase across the room. A lot had happened in the last four hours, four years and four and a half decades. I paused, realizing at that very moment that everything had come to this exact moment because of bad decisions that I had made. I wanted to change. I needed to change.

I knew the only way to make this right was to come clean. The life I had been living was a betrayal to the vows I had made to my wife, my children and mostly importantly, the promises I had made to God. I wanted to put a stop to the betrayal, even if I had to throw myself on a sword to do it.

I knew if I picked up the phone and had the nerve to follow through on this call that there would be consequences, but I didn’t hesitate another moment. I dialed the cell phone number that I had written on the palm of my hand.

“Hello, Director Gwyn, this is Senator Paul Stanley. How are you?”

“Fine, Senator Stanley, how are you?”

“Director, I have a critical issue I need to discuss with you personally. It could potentially involve the safety of my family, and I would like to speak with you privately as soon as possible. Are you available?”

“Actually, I’m in the Plaza in a House committee hearing but I should be free a little after noon. Could I run by and see you then?”

“Sure, but it doesn’t need to be in my office. Let me find another location, and I’ll call you back in a bit.”

“That’s fine,” he said, “I’ll call you when I’m finished.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

Although I was not privy to most of the emails between McKensie and Joel Watts at that time, she sent Joel a text a little after 10. “Lunch 2 talk?”

So there it was. There was no turning back, no reversing history. It was around 11:30 a.m. at this point, and I needed to go across the street to a Republican women’s luncheon. I couldn’t even think about eating; my stomach was in knots, but it was important that I make an appearance. I walked into the Sheraton Hotel, just a block west of the Hermitage, and took the staircase to the banquet rooms. I checked in at the registration table and went and sat down at one of the Shelby County tables. There was a salad in front of me. I ate a few bites, but mainly pushed lettuce around on my plate. After chatting with the others at my table for a few minutes, I politely excused myself. I had to get back to the Plaza and find a safe and private place to meet Director Gwyn.

A little more than five hours after the first text, my phone vibrated, indicating another text. This time, it was from McKensie: “R u ok?”

My head filled with anger and resentment. Was she serious? No, I wasn’t okay. And I knew at 12:12 pm on April 8, 2009, that my life was about to change forever. I really wished Kristi were here. I needed her counsel and advice now, more than ever. I needed to tell her how sorry I was for what I had done.