Sean Browne sat in his office in the People's Manor, waiting for a visit from his new boss, Darcy Egan. Because the president's policies and communication about them were intertwined in the Martin administration, his chief advisor on policy also directed the communications staff as part of her expansive responsibilities. Later that day, Sean would conduct his first press conference. Although he had a staff that briefed him on the news, and he had specialists from key departments that also provided talking points, Darcy took a personal interest in grooming him for his job.
Sean left the door open—because he was expecting his visitor to arrive, he told himself. His repeated glances down the hall, however, suggested another motive. Smiling to himself, he had to admit that the real reason for the open door was to experience the thrill of seeing the entryway to the president's office just down the hall, with the country's—and the world's—most powerful political figures coming and going. Like a person who pinches himself to prove he's not dreaming, Sean kept his door open to see, hear, and almost touch the president of the United States, like a teammate whose locker was just down the hall from his own.
In the one heady week since his arrival, Sean had been given daily access to Ken Martin. The most powerful man in the world had whisked him, Sean Browne, onto the presidential jet for a tour of a military facility and a press event with its commander. Sean had also accompanied the president at a meeting with the world's wealthiest business leaders, at a formal dinner for visiting heads of state, and at a posh hotel for a fundraiser.
The announcement of Sean's new appointment received widespread coverage in the press. Rather than being a mere condiment to grace the plate of a sizzling steak, Sean found himself to be a juicy subject in his own right—for a magazine spread, a leading newspaper story, and an appearance on a popular late-night television show. He had received more invitations in one week than he had received in his entire pre-People's Manor life.
He had read the day's major newspapers piled on his desk and now turned to his computer to check the online news coverage. His appointment was still getting play, he noticed. As he clicked on Miller News Network, a dash of anger peppered his otherwise sanguine morning. Was it jealousy that fueled his visceral dislike of Reed Miller, the man who had been Laura's boyfriend, but who had never loved her? He, Sean, was the man who could so easily . . . so completely . . . love . . . Would Laura be more interested in him now with his commanding new stature? Would he finally be able to help her break free of what he sensed was Reed's lingering hold on her?
He thought of his last encounter with his former boss, when he had gone to Reed's office to negotiate a release from his contract so that he could accept the offer to become the press secretary. He had prepared a statement for the meeting about how grateful he was to Miller News Network for his big break in television, but that the opportunity to play a key role in a presidential administration may only come once in a lifetime. He wanted to be helpful, however, and would stay on until a replacement could be found.
Reed had studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Pack up now. I release you from your contract effective after your show tonight," Reed had said indifferently.
"But you'll need time to find a replacement for me."
"Not a problem."
"What'll you do in the interim?"
"A guest host will do."
"Meaning I won't be missed?" Sean asked.
"Meaning you belong with them."
"I'm just curious, Reed. Where do you belong?"
Reed looked surprised at what sounded like an impertinence.
"We're not talking about me," he said.
"It's the prime-time news show on your network—don't you care about your company? Then again, with the way you treated Laura Taninger, I'm not sure you care about anything anymore."
Reed burst out laughing.
"I see you finally found your spine," he replied. "When you have nothing to lose, you suddenly speak up to me. That's brave of you."
Words that Sean had suppressed but always wanted to utter suddenly spewed out.
He said, "You used her and her show to defend you when the Feds were suing you, when your companies were in jeopardy, when the press was savagely smearing you, when your reputation was at its lowest point, when your fame and fortune were about to get knee-capped. That's when you toyed with her feelings. Then, when the crisis was over and you didn't need her anymore, you dropped her."
Reed's face showed no reaction, as if the man before him wasn't worth the bother of a strong emotion.
"If no one's ever told you, I will," Sean went on. "That was a goddamned, despicable thing you did, Reed! You'll rot in hell for it!"
"Maybe so," Reed said, agreeing with the assessment. "I may someday be standing on one of the lowest rungs in hell. But I'll still have to look down to see your new employers."
As Sean sat in his new office in the People's Manor, he felt indignant at Reed's indifference to him—and to Laura. A glance down the hallway changed his mood. He saw the President of Spain being escorted into Ken Martin's office, and Sean reclaimed his newfound sense of importance. He was now an insider to political events on the highest level. As he smiled, gloating over his new post, Darcy appeared for their meeting.
I respect Darcy, and she respects me, he thought. Unlike Reed.
"Hey, Darcy, come on in."
Darcy Egan closed the door behind her and sat down.
Sean smiled broadly, but Darcy barely cracked a grin.
"I'm having a great first week here. It's exciting—I'll tell you that!" Sean said, sitting back for a little small talk.
"Good," she answered perfunctorily, looking down at the papers she carried with her.
"I don't know if the buzz I get from having an office just down the hall from the president's will ever wear off—"
"Here are some notes I drew up for you," she said, handing him a few pages containing her thoughts.
Her manner toward him had changed, he observed. Gone were the warm greetings and courteous manner she had always employed when she called him at Miller News Network. Working as a journalist, he'd been accustomed to Darcy's diplomacy:
Oh, hello, Sean, dear. How are you today?
Would you mind if I mentioned a topic you might consider covering on your show tonight?
Might I share with you a different perspective on the issue than your guest discussed last night on your show?
Now, he was surprised to feel tense in her presence. He leaned forward and glanced at the papers.
"The notes run through what you need to say, especially how you'll handle questions you're sure to be asked," she said brusquely.
At least Reed never snapped orders at him, he thought. But in his new job, he was, after all, speaking for the president, so he would, of course, need to be under tight supervision, he reasoned.
"First, there's verbiage in the notes on how to address the item appearing in The Daily Sun that claims the chairman of the House Committee on Urban Development called the director of housing a moron—"
"But, Darcy, do you really think we need to address this in the presidential briefing? I mean, who cares about these petty squabbles except the inside-the-beltway crowd?"
"They're the ones we're talking to."
"I thought we were talking to the American people."
"But you always need to address inside-the-beltway stuff that the press eats up," she said, thumbing through her notes. "Let's see what else. Oh, yes. The Advocates for Peace and Democracy held a demonstration yesterday in Atlanta that got a little out of hand."
"I'll say. Ten people hospitalized, dozens of stores looted, police cars overturned, and a fire set in a shopping mall. Very few of the rioters and thugs were arrested, and they promise another round of street fighting tonight."
"Talking like that isn't helpful, Sean. You need to be careful. Our party's biggest donors fund that group, and the group campaigns for our candidates. We need to frame the coverage of our people in the most positive light. The Advocates for Peace and Democracy are a civil rights group addressing real grievances of people that society has forgotten. Yesterday, the advocates were engaged in a peaceful protest, when a few individuals in the crowd were provoked by rough police tactics, and they felt they had to . . . push back."
"I think even the sympathetic members of the press corps will challenge me on that rosy picture of the thugs," said Sean.
"Just say: We call on all sides—the police and the demonstrators—to exercise restraint."
Sean hesitated. What would Laura think of me if I equated the police with the rioters? But reluctant to challenge his new boss, Sean conceded.
"Okay, Darcy, if that's what you want."
"And the tax proposal that the president submitted to Congress. We want to frame that as a tax cut."
"But it raises taxes."
"Not on the lowest bracket."
"It raises taxes on all the other brackets, which make up seventy percent of the taxpayers. So seventy percent of taxpayers will get an increase from the president's plan."
"Sean, we want to de-emphasize details that could undercut our proposal. I want you to frame it as a sweeping tax cut that will help the neediest Americans."
Sean smiled nervously.
"Well, okay," he said. "The president's critics will no doubt have their say, and the truth will come out."
"You mean, the . . . other aspects . . . of the plan will come out," Darcy corrected. "Then there's the matter of Vita Simpson."
"What about her?" asked Sean. He knew Taninger News' fearless reporter and the confidence Laura placed in her.
"When it comes to Vita, never be afraid to use mockery, insinuations, and cutting remarks."
"But we need to be careful, don't we, Darcy? We don't want the president's office to appear defensive or . . . vicious . . . in responding to questions from the press."
"Taninger News isn't the legitimate press."
"You mean, they're not the press that agrees with our positions, don't you? I would think we don't want to stoke up Laura Taninger with cutting remarks at Vita."
"Do you think we're afraid to take that hack on?" Darcy asked heatedly.
Sean wanted to rush to Laura's defense, but instead he managed a nod and a smile.
"Taninger News is the enemy, Sean. We meet it head-on. That's how we deal with Vita . . . and her boss." Darcy irritably fanned herself with her notes. "When Vita peppers you about documents that Taninger News wants to obtain from the Bureau of Elections, the answer we give is: All requests are handled by the agencies in question, which comply fully with the public disclosure laws. When Vita accuses our administration of putting pressure on Laura Taninger and her family to thwart her investigation, the answer is: We know nothing about any pressure to discourage members of the press from pursuing whatever they choose to pursue. Then add a little putdown, like, Of course, it's too bad that our simple explanations don't spike ratings. Be cool when you say it, then move on to another questioner."
Sean's smile faded at the insults to Laura.
Darcy looked at him curiously.
"Are you uncomfortable with the talking points?"
"I guess your talking points are okay, Darcy, if you don't expect to speak the truth with them."
"Words can be used for so many other purposes."
Did he detect a note of condescension? He was prone to overreact, so he cautioned himself to check his impulses and not contradict his new boss.
"I don't mean to . . . challenge . . . anything, Darcy. I'm just asking questions to try to understand what you want."
"Words are flexible, Sean. Words are tools—asserting the truth is only one of their many uses, and not the most interesting one, either."
"I see. I . . . think I see."
"We make magic with words," said Darcy proudly.
"You mean, you pull them out of a hat to trick your audience?" he blurted involuntarily. "I mean, uh, I didn't mean to imply—"
Darcy smiled, unoffended.
"We awe an audience," she said. "That's what we do. We enthrall, mesmerize . . . even hypnotize."
Later that day Sean stood behind a lectern in the briefing room, with the nation's colors displayed at his side. The round seal of the People's Manor hung behind him on the wall like a halo with his face in its center. His first press conference had begun.
Rows of reporters took notes as he described the president's schedule of upcoming meetings and trips. Then he took questions. A few threw him softballs for his first day, which he easily fielded. No one asked probing questions or raised the slightest suspicions regarding the hot spots on which Laura had focused. How many of them were awaiting a position in the inner circle of the People's Manor—he wondered—a prestigious post like the one he had just obtained? A troubling thought flashed through his mind: Am I a role model for their . . . compliance? But his new job put him at the pinnacle of his career. How could he have misgivings during this, his finest moment? He hastily dismissed his qualms.
After the easy first round, he called on Vita Simpson.
She asked, "Will the Bureau of Elections respond promptly to the second request by Just the Truth for full public disclosure of the payments made and the contractors used in assembling SafeVote? Will Taninger News finally obtain the complete records, or will the administration stand by and allow Elections to keep stonewalling?"
There was only a moment's pause before Sean answered. What he said was the truth. He believed that. He had no evidence to controvert it.
"I assure you, Vita, no one is being stonewalled—in this matter or any other."
Arriving home after her show that evening, Laura sprawled across the couch and kicked off her shoes. As she waited for a food delivery, she had an idle moment. Her body lay limp and exhausted while her mind was still consumed with work. She grabbed her mobile phone and searched for the media's latest potshots at her, likely triggered by the president's sniper, Zack Walker. Since she had left the office, several new postings had appeared.
An article was published on a news site that had a reputation for pandering to the sensational and paying for stories. The piece was an interview with a former staff member of Taninger News, Ben Peters. The man expounded on how impossible it was to work for the explosive, out-of-control Laura Taninger. The assertions he made were unsubstantiated, and there were no corroborating witnesses named in the story. She remembered Ben Peters as a disgruntled employee who had been fired. The interview did not mention his dismissal. If he had received payment for his story, that, too, was not revealed.
Then there was the story on another news site of how Laura Taninger had once been arrested for drunk driving, but the matter was covered up due to her family's money and influence. An unnamed source was quoted as the only evidence for the claim. The charge was categorically false, but Laura knew the article's heading was sufficiently intriguing to lure tens of thousands to click on it to read the piece. She could join the fray and offer an absolute denial, backed up with public records showing she had never been arrested for anything, but she knew that even if the news site issued a correction, it would likely reach only a small fraction of the audience that saw the original piece. She could mention the matter on her show, but that would give the news site that attacked her substantial publicity and attract a greater audience to it.
The injustices stung. She jumped up. She paced. She tried to imagine it was someone else who was being attacked—someone else who was a monster, who was arrested, who was not to be trusted. She had to decide how to respond. She tried to quell the feelings that were playing within her—the anger, disappointment, revulsion, and pain.
Then the doorbell rang. It was her dinner delivery, and she remembered that she hadn't eaten all day.