The Big Lie

by James Grippando

  “Ask your old man if he knows any lawyers we can trust,” said Kipner.

  “Got it,” said Jack. “Gentlemen, it sounds like this interview is over. But thank you.”

  Jack started out.

  “Jack,” said the senator, stopping him. “You’re making a big mistake.”

  It was late, Jack was tired, and, for his father’s sake, Jack didn’t want to say the wrong thing to a man who still had a legitimate shot at the White House. He kept it short.

  “You’re probably right,” Jack said, and he left the kitchen.

  Chapter 6

  Ground Force One, the president’s armored motor coach, rolled into Florida like a jet-black fortress on wheels. It was day three of President MacLeod’s victory tour.

  MacLeod’s chief strategist loved history, and his inspiration for this road trip was George Washington’s 1,887-mile stagecoach tour following his inauguration in 1789. Heading south from Washington, MacLeod’s tour sailed right through Virginia, which had gone for Stahl, and officially began in Raleigh, North Carolina. Then it was on to South Carolina and Georgia. The original plan had been to hit every state the president had carried in the general election and to do it before the meeting of the Electoral College on December 14. MacLeod’s mission was an in-person meeting with each Republican elector—all 273 of them—to reinforce what the president’s lawyers characterized as a “binding legal commitment” to vote for him. “Thirty-one states in thirty-one days” was the slogan. But like so many plans the MacLeod White House had rolled out in the previous four years, this one had barely begun before it was scrapped and completely rewritten. The press reminded MacLeod that he wasn’t a president-elect with nothing to do but hit the road and thank everyone who voted for him; he was the sitting president with a country to run. Thirty-one states were whittled down to the nine battleground states that had pushed MacLeod over the top in the Electoral College. Chief among them was Florida.

  After breakfast with his chief strategist on the bus, MacLeod stopped for a stump speech at Tallahassee Community College, also known as TCC, disparaged as “Tee Hee Hee” by luckier students who got directly into nearby Florida State University without having to spend a semester or two at TCC. About a thousand passionate MacLeod supporters crammed into Eagle Field baseball stadium near the TCC campus. Most were seated in the bleachers and grandstands. Others grabbed a patch of the Bermuda grass infield, getting as close to the president as the Secret Service would allow. MacLeod had no prepared words. The president’s penchant for free-flowing thought gave his staff indigestion on a regular basis, but his base loved the way he waxed on without a script. MacLeod was on his favorite topic: winning.

  “Look at the electoral map,” he said, though he had no map to show them. “I won thirty-one states. If you go county by county and color in every one that went for me, over eighty percent of the map is red! What did Stahl win? Basically, the liberal population centers around New York City and Washington and certain cities in California. That’s the Democrats’ idea of democracy. Let a handful of big liberal cities pick your president and forget everyone else. That’s what they mean when they say ‘the popular vote.’”

  MacLeod paused for the usual showing of love and support through friendly booing.

  “By the way, have you been to San Francisco lately? You can’t walk two blocks down the sidewalk without stepping in a pile of human waste or being assaulted by a mentally deranged homeless person. Is that the best America can be? No, thanks, Mr. Stahl. Voters rejected you and your elitist views. You say, ‘Five million matter’? I say elections matter. You lost. Get over it. There are no mulligans in politics. Thank you all very, very much!”

  Like a rock star, he waved to his adoring fans and started offstage. A pair of stone-faced Secret Service agents escorted him back to Ground Force One. The president climbed the steps quickly, still energized by his speech. The pneumatic door closed behind him, and he took a seat in the captain’s chair by the dark-tinted window. His chief strategist sat across from him in the other chair.

  “That was awesome,” said MacLeod.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” said Teague. “But there’s no time for any more speeches. We have to stick to the schedule. I don’t see how we’re going to get through twenty-nine meetings today before hitting Alabama tomorrow.”

  “Stop and think about what you just said, Oscar. Do you honestly think we’re going to find an unfaithful elector in Alabama?”

  Teague thought about it, but not very long. “Well, no, actually.”

  “My point exactly. If we have to stay over another day in Florida, so be it. We can do a group meeting with all nine Alabama electors and get right back on schedule.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll need two full days in Florida. I have some specific concerns.”

  “Tell me.”

  Teague set up his notebook on the table and positioned it so the president could view it. Thumbnail photographs of Florida’s twenty-nine electors populated the screen in yearbook fashion.

  “Good-looking group,” said the president, and then he zeroed in on the brunette in the second row. “She’s actually pretty hot.”

  “I’ll get to her in a minute. By and large, the slate is filled with hardcore Republicans who wouldn’t vote for a Democrat if you put a gun to their head. Obviously, I’m not worried about the chairman of the Florida Republican Party. But there are a handful of wildcards we need to focus on.”

  “Like who?”

  “This guy, for one,” he said, pointing. “Alan Schwartz.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “He won the Florida Lotto six years ago. Eighty million dollars, lump sum. Every year he gives a ton of money to Republican candidates, which I presume is how he ended up on the Republican slate of Electoral College voters. But it turns out he uses his spare change to buy politicians of every stripe, Republican and Democrat alike. So I don’t know how loyal he is.”

  MacLeod grabbed a pen and made a note on his list of names. “I’ll put a question mark by him. Who else?”

  “Irving Bell.”

  “The former football player? That Irving Bell?”

  “Yeah. A solid Republican, but he gets a lot of grief from the black community for supporting you.”

  “Do you seriously think a Republican NFL star who grew up in Miami’s toughest black neighborhood is going to vote for a homosexual?”

  “Senator Stahl is alleged to have slept with a man. Even if it’s true, that doesn’t make him a homosexual.”

  “Give me a break, Oscar. Now you sound like those liberal lunatics who came down on Rami Malek at the Academy Awards for saying that Freddie Mercury was gay. I get it. The man bit the bullet and slept with a woman at some point in his life. He’s still a killer queen in my book.”

  “I’m just saying that Mr. Bell could feel some external pressure to abandon you.”

  “Irving ‘the Bell-Man’ can handle pressure. Who else? Do any of these electors have a brother who’s gay, a lesbian daughter—that sort of thing?”

  “I don’t have that information, but the answer is probably yes. We’re talking about twenty-nine people from one of the most diverse states in the nation.”

  “I guess we’ll find out when I talk to them,” he said, and his gaze drifted back to where the conversation had started. “Tell me about this brunette.”

  “Charlotte Holmes. Thirty-three years old. Lives right here in Tallahassee.”

  “How did she get to be an elector?”

  “She works with Madeline Chisel.”

  “The gun lobbyist?”

  “The one and only.”

  MacLeod’s gaze returned to the on-screen headshot. “Damn, now I’m in love.”

  “You may want to cool your jets, sir. So far I’ve been able to line up twenty-eight of Florida’s twenty-nine electors to meet with you. There’s only one who hasn’t gotten back to me. Care to guess who it is?”

  “Maybe Ms. Holmes likes to play hard to get.
”

  “Maybe Charlotte Holmes is somebody we need to worry about.”

  “That’s the difference between you and me, Oscar.”

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “Beautiful women don’t scare me.” MacLeod smiled and popped a Tic Tac into his mouth. “Ever.”

  “Another one of your many virtues, sir.”

  MacLeod laughed. “You’re such a tight-ass, Oscar.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” he said, letting it roll off his back. “More important, I want to start moving on Charlotte Holmes. I suggest a call from you to Madeline Chisel.”

  “That’s a great place to start,” said the president. “That woman has kept Tallahassee in line on guns for forty years. She can certainly get her own employee in line.”

  MacLeod’s praise for Chisel was no exaggeration. It was Chisel who’d crafted the Florida statute that allowed anyone who legally owns a firearm to carry a concealed handgun in public, after payment of a small permitting fee and completion of a rudimentary training course. Florida’s law went on to be duplicated, in some form, in almost every state. Chisel’s fingerprints were also on the country’s first stand-your-ground law, which did away with any duty to retreat and authorized the use of lethal force as a first option in response to a perceived threat.

  Teague retrieved the contact information, dialed up Chisel on an encrypted line, and handed the phone to the president.

  “Madeline, good to hear your voice. How long has it been?”

  “Since your speech at the NRA convention, Mr. President. I’m honored to take your call.”

  “We’re having some trouble setting up a meeting with your associate, Charlotte Holmes.”

  “Yes, and I apologize for this mess. You know, I turned eighty this year.”

  “Congratulations. You sound as young as ever.”

  “I don’t feel so young. This is the first year since Bush forty-one that I declined to serve on the Republican slate of electors. I’ve spent the last two years passing the baton here at my lobbying firm to Charlotte. So I gave her the honor of being an elector, just to build up her street cred, so to speak. She was my golden girl.”

  “Was?” MacLeod asked with concern.

  “Yeah,” she said, her voice halting. “Charlotte resigned about twenty minutes ago.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She didn’t give a reason. I got a one-line e-mail this morning, and she didn’t answer when I called her. Pretty inconsiderate of her, after all I’ve done for that girl. I was getting my thoughts together to call Oscar when my phone rang.”

  “Obviously it’s more important than ever that I speak to her.”

  “She has to clean out her office at some point, but I’m not sure it will be today. I can drive over to her house right now, if you want.”

  “Yes, please do that. Let us know.”

  “Will do.”

  The president thanked her and then ended the call. He laid the phone on the table and looked at his campaign manager. “I guess there’s a first time for everything, Oscar.”

  “Sir?”

  He sat back in his captain’s chair, gazing pensively out the dark-tinted windows of Ground Force One. “Charlotte Holmes is starting to scare me.”

  Chapter 7

  Jack was in his office when his father called. Harry’s wife was in the hospital.

  “Just for some tests,” said Harry. “We need to know why she’s feeling tired all the time. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  Agnes had been “feeling tired” since July, when Jack had taken her seat of honor beside the former governor at the convention in Miami Beach. Jack suspected it was more likely something than “nothing,” but that was probably the last thing his father needed to hear.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” said Jack.

  “It would do her good to see her granddaughter. Could you bring Righley by for a visit?”

  Jackson Memorial Hospital was a world-renowned teaching and tertiary-care center just across the Miami River from Jack’s office, less than a mile from the Criminal Justice Center. Jack wasn’t the only criminal defense lawyer in Miami who’d stood in a courtroom defending a client whose victim lay in a hospital bed at Jackson, quite possibly with a view of the courthouse. There were definitely parts of his job that Jack didn’t like.

  Visitation hours at Jackson were until 9:00 p.m. Andie swung by the office to pick up Jack. Righley was strapped into her car seat behind him.

  “Daddy, why would anybody want arms like a bear?”

  “What, sweetie?”

  “Wouldn’t they be all hairy and gross?”

  “Wouldn’t what be hairy and gross?”

  “Bear arms.”

  Andie stopped at the intersection. “I think our little girl’s been listening to those TV ads—the ones that say Senator Stahl’s attempt to hijack the Electoral College is a left-wing attack on the Second Amendment and the right to bear arms.”

  “The right to keep and bear arms,” said Jack. “Not the right to bear arms.”

  “As distinguished from the Third Amendment and the right to frog feet,” said Andie.

  “I want frog feet!” shouted Righley.

  Jack laughed, then stopped. “What the heck is the Third Amendment, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the lawyer.”

  “I must’ve missed that day in law school.”

  Self-parking was virtually impossible anywhere on the medical campus, so they valeted at the main hospital entrance. A patient was waiting in a wheelchair at the curb, attended by a nurse. She was barely conscious, too weak to hold her head up straight. Jack took Righley’s hand to hurry her along and keep her from staring with the innocent but nonetheless intrusive curiosity of a child.

  “How old is that lady?” Righley whispered.

  No older than Andie, Jack guessed. Jack hadn’t come looking for a teaching moment, but later, probably when they returned home, would be an appropriate time to talk more about diseases that robbed people of their best years. “She’s very sick, honey.”

  They checked in at the visitation desk. Jack wanted a candid update from his father, which he wasn’t likely to get in front of a child, so Andie sat with Righley on the couch and Jack waited by the elevators. The chrome doors parted and Harry stepped out, but before Jack could even say hello, a reporter jumped out of nowhere and cornered Harry by a potted palm tree.

  “Governor, how is the former First Lady?”

  Harry was surprised but gracious. He told the reporter exactly what he’d told Jack: tests. It took only a moment for the journalist to pivot to the real purpose of the ambush. “Sir, is it true that you advised Senator Stahl to concede the election and not take this fight to the Electoral College?”

  Jack tried not to react in the presence of a reporter, but his father’s advice had been rendered in the limited presence of the candidate’s inner circle on election night—which meant that this reporter had one very high-ranking source.

  “Whatever I told the senator is between him and me,” said Harry. “I’m a private citizen these days.”

  “What do you think of the latest news out of Michigan?”

  “What news?”

  “The Republican elector who said he was threatened with death if he doesn’t switch his vote to Senator Stahl.”

  “I’ve not heard that report. If it’s true, it’s terrible, and whoever made such a threat should be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take my son and his family upstairs to see my wife.”

  “Just one more question, Governor. Does Senator Stahl have your full support in his efforts to convince Republicans to be faithless electors and vote Democratic?”

  Harry hesitated, and Jack wondered how his father was going to handle this one.

  “I would never criticize any American for voting his or her conscience,” said Harry.

  “Including members of the Electoral College?”

  Righley ra
n across the lobby and wrapped her arms around Harry’s legs. “Hi, Grandpa!”

  Harry scooped her up. Jack glanced across the lobby and silently thanked Andie for having the good sense to send Righley over to rescue Grandpa.

  Harry excused himself and carried Righley into the open elevator. Jack and Andie joined them, Righley made a big deal out of pushing the button, and they rode up to the fourth floor, sans reporter. Jack’s cell rang as they walked down the hallway. It was his assistant calling from the office. Jack never ignored a call from Bonnie. He let Righley and Andie go inside the room without him and took the call in the waiting area by the nurses’ station.

  “Sorry to bother you, Jack, but it’s a potential new client, and this is definitely an emergency.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Her name is Charlotte Holmes. She’s one of the Florida electors.”

  “Bonnie, are you sure this is not a practical joke?” Jack could think of at least one friend who would think a stunt like this was hilarious.

  “It sounds legit. She said she already spoke to Senator Stahl’s lawyer and mentioned Mr. Kipner by name. Maybe she wants to change her vote.”

  “If she spoke to Kipner, she wouldn’t be calling me. The last conversation I had with him made it clear that if any of the electors needed a lawyer, I wouldn’t be at the top of the referral list. They want someone they can control.”

  “Should I tell Ms. Holmes to call someone else?”

  Jack had his doubts, but what if this was real? “Put her through, I guess.”

  Bonnie made the connection, did the introduction, and then dropped herself from the call. Jack went straight to the issue that was at the root of his suspicions. “Ms. Holmes, I’m told that you were referred to me by Senator Stahl’s legal counsel, Matthew Kipner.”

  “That’s not exactly right. I said I spoke to Mr. Kipner. I told him I was considering voting my conscience and that I expected a legal fight. He said he couldn’t represent me, but he didn’t refer me to you. He gave me the name of three other lawyers who he thought would be good.”

  “Then why are you calling me?”