Lee was in the operating room, sent there to observe at the president’s request. The game had changed. President Hilliard had come off the sidelines and was now draped in the colors of Team Lee, much to Dr. Gleason’s chagrin.
It was six thirty in the evening according to Karen’s watch. Normally at this hour, the first family would be sitting down for dinner prepared by the White House chef. Family time was sacred for the president and his wife. They had vacated their Maryland home for the White House with a pledge to live as normal a life as possible. Any chance he got, President Hilliard would trumpet the importance of the family meal, but Karen thought it was just his way of relating to voters.
When it came to politics, Geoffrey Hilliard was an unabashed centrist who shamelessly cut deals both ways, which was why people both loved and despised him. His centrist position made it difficult to know what was truly important to him.
There was no question what was most important to the first lady. The anxiousness on Ellen’s face was pronounced. She sat on the leather couch next to Geoffrey, holding his hand. Hospital staff had switched off the television, which had been broadcasting CNN. The president followed the example of his predecessor and rarely watched the talking heads or politicos on the twenty-four-hour news cycle. The media was seldom centrist, and skewered him based on their leanings.
Ellen did her best to stay dignified under the relentless scrutiny, but the spotlight of the White House was a harsh glare to live in. The public could be profoundly cruel. The pitfalls of public life that she had experienced early in her marriage to Geoffrey, then a young state senator from Maryland, grew exponentially when he decided to run for the U.S. Senate, and it got even worse after he announced his candidacy for the presidency. Ellen played the good wife, ever supportive, careful to curate an image she felt was digestible to the American people, while behind closed doors she was dealing with personal losses from multiple miscarriages.
Right now, however, public scrutiny and political appearances were the least of her concerns. In this regard, hospitals were the great equalizer.
Eventually, a nurse entered the waiting room—a bit starstruck at first, but she pulled it together enough to deliver a message from Lee. The operation was going well. They could do laparoscopic surgery as opposed to an open splenectomy, which would greatly reduce recovery time. Cam would need a day or two in the hospital before returning to the White House to rest at home.
The media, unlike Cam, would not rest, not even for a moment. Presidents were unable to move about without media teams, pools of reporters following their every step. The media and the White House press office had an understanding: play by the rules, follow at a distance, and your question may be the one the president answers during a briefing. But in this situation, the press could not be allowed to tail the president to the MDC, so a diversion was hastily arranged. A fake motorcade had departed from Walter Reed for the White House with a body double playing the role of President Hilliard, while a separate motorcade, this one smaller, had ferried the president to the MDC without arousing suspicion.
It would not be long, however, before reporters figured out they had been duped, and that a patient at the MDC named “Lincoln Jefferson” was in fact Cam Hilliard. Like hyenas to carrion, the media were expert scavengers who picked away at privacy until no meat remained on the bone.
Ellen found the lack of privacy one of the most difficult aspects of her life in the White House. There were innumerable restrictions on her movements, many of which Karen had to enforce. She would gripe almost daily about not being able to stand in front of an open window in her own home or breathe fresh air while out for a drive. Those were big no-nos for the Secret Service. Good guys with guns had to take extraordinary measures to protect her from bad guys with guns.
For a career-minded, brilliant businesswoman, a woman with ambition and drive, the White House was a challenging bubble. Ellen had well-formed opinions about important matters, but instead of her thoughts, people were more interested in the brand of her pumps. Right or wrong, any policy matter she discussed ended up reflecting negatively on Geoffrey.
The White House had sandwiches couriered over, saving the Secret Service from having to test the hospital cuisine. Good as those sandwiches were, Gleason hadn’t taken a bite. He was too busy trying to find ways to contradict Lee.
“In addition to my own research, I’ve had several calls with colleagues, and I can assure you, Mr. President, Mrs. Hilliard, nothing about an enlarged spleen correlates with Cam’s psychological issues.”
Karen leapt to her feet. “Why do you keep insisting Cam’s troubles are psychological?” she said. “With all due respect, Dr. Gleason, Lee had reached a very different conclusion.”
The president sensed the tension and opted to play referee. “Easy, Karen. Let’s not make a bad situation worse.”
Gleason was not about to let it go. Backing away from a challenge ran counter to his makeup.
“Where do you get off, Karen?” Gleason said. “You’re not a doctor. You have no footing to stand on here.”
“Now, Fred, you take it easy.”
Gleason held his angry stare for a beat before redirecting his attention to the president.
“What I’m trying to say, Mr. President, is that Cam’s symptoms developed when Taylor started to beat him at chess. That’s when all his moodiness began.”
Ellen joined the circle. “What are you getting at, Fred?” she asked.
“I’m simply saying that we both admire our kids’ abilities to play the game, but we also know that Cam was the better player up until recently. Now I’m not trying to say that Taylor has outworked Cam, but he’s been going to the TPI every day after school to practice. Every day. The results speak for themselves. Taylor’s game has improved remarkably.”
“You’re talking about chess, while I’m starting to wonder if you should be the one to look after Cam,” Ellen said, ice in her voice. “First you missed diagnosing a possible epileptic event, and then you completely dismissed Karen’s concerns over Cam’s injury.”
President Hilliard’s jaw clenched. “Ellen, please,” he said. “Let’s be reasonable.”
Karen could hardly believe her ears. Not what Geoffrey had said—that was entirely expected. He would cling to the middle ground like it was the last life jacket on the Titanic.
What had surprised Karen was how forthcoming Ellen had been, so openly critical of one of her husband’s confidants—a personal hire, in fact. This was more like Ellen from Geoffrey’s first campaign—brash, unabashed, and unafraid to speak her mind. It was refreshing to hear, and Karen enjoyed watching Gleason squirm.
“I understand that you could perceive the events in that way,” Gleason said. “But I stand by my earlier assessment that Cam’s initial symptoms were indicators of depression and nothing more. I respectfully disagree with Lee Blackwood’s assessment, but let’s get Cam neuro-tested if that’s what’s needed to bring us some closure. Of course I’m all for that. What I’m trying to point out is that suddenly Cam isn’t at the top of his chess game, and well, I hate to say it, but I think it’s gotten to him. It’s completely understandable, but it’s also completely unrelated to this current injury.
“Had Karen done her job and watched Cam closely, called me instead of Lee when she grew concerned, I would have ordered her to bring him to the hospital right away.”
Karen managed to stay quiet, but inside she was seething. Not only did Gleason find a way to bash her while refusing to acknowledge she had made the right call, he was gloating about his damn kid to the president and first lady at the most inappropriate time.
“You’re saying that a few months of extra work at the TPI brought Taylor up to the level of Cam? That’s utterly outrageous,” Karen said, taking a step toward Gleason, hands on her hips.
“So now you’re a chess expert as well as a medical professional,” Dr. Gleason said.
“No,” Karen replied. “But if it were that easy to get as good as Cam, everyone who loved the game would do it.”
“Maybe Taylor is that good. Maybe the TPI needed to help him unlock his true potential. It is the True Potential Institute, after all.”
“In a way Dr. Gleason is right, Karen,” Ellen said, her anger settling. “The TPI has done wonders for many of the children who go there through my Aim Higher initiative.”
Karen knew this to be true. Aim Higher was the program Ellen had developed as part of her signature cause to enhance arts and science curriculum for disadvantaged students across the country. She modeled her efforts in part on the TPI’s unique approach to learning, believing that without the support and structure Cam received there, he would never have excelled at chess.
Karen felt a tickle of doubt. Maybe Gleason was right, and Taylor had discovered his own potential for excellence. Maybe Cam’s issues were all psychological. Chess meant everything to him, and Cam’s identity was entwined with his game like a Gordian knot. His personality change, the moodiness and irritability, it all coincided with a sudden and inexplicable losing streak to Taylor, a far lesser player.
The founder and director of the TPI was an enigmatic Japanese man named Yoshi Matsumoto. Yoshi’s methods were thought to be part science and part magic. Perhaps Yoshi had taken a sudden interest in Taylor and worked hard to foster the boy’s latent gifts. Or maybe Taylor had eclipsed Cam in a less conventional way.
Cheating.
Karen knew the unsavory practice was commonplace in most every arena these days. Just this morning, she had read a news story about a competitive bicyclist who’d managed to sneak a miniaturized motor into the frame of her bicycle.
If Taylor had somehow gained an unfair advantage—conceivably with the help of his ultracompetitive father—it stood to reason that knowing this might help pull Cam out of his funk.
Karen decided she could no longer wait and do nothing. The president and first lady had plenty of agents to watch over them. She could take an hour to go to the TPI and see what exactly went on at the famed institute.