John Van Dyke assumed they would patch things up, certainly before the President officially decided to run again, but it had not yet happened. They were sitting in the Oval Office late one night when Van Dyke broached the subject. “Matthew”—this was not something he called his boss often, it was always “Mr. President,” but he used the President’s first name when he wanted to get serious—“we have to make a decision. I assume we’re going for another term. We don’t have to announce it officially, but you and I have to be on the same page. You haven’t mentioned it once.” The President didn’t answer. He stared at a painting of George Washington on the far wall. Van Dyke thought he hadn’t heard him. “Mr. President?”
“I heard you. I would like to continue in office.” He paused. “I don’t know if my wife feels the same way.”
Van Dyke felt as if he had been hit with a right hook. What was his boss saying exactly? “I don’t understand. She doesn’t want to be First Lady any longer?”
“I don’t think she wants to be my wife any longer.”
John Van Dyke had dealt with everything imaginable, or so he thought, but was he really going to be the first chief of staff in United States history to deal with a divorce? He sat there trying to find something clever or witty or soothing—anything—to say, but he could think of nothing. Finally he mumbled, “I think a divorce would be hurtful to your reelection.”
The President laughed. “You’re telling me!”
“Does Betsy not enjoy the job of First Lady?”
“Betsy does not enjoy the job of being my wife. If she was married to someone else, she might tolerate being First Lady, but she has made it clear she does not want to do this again.”
“So if you don’t run, would that make her happy?”
“If I didn’t run, the way I see it, I think she might divorce me anyway. She has fallen out of love with me. If she ever was really in love with me in the first place.”
“Well, sir, that’s bad news. I’m sorry you’re going through this. Hopefully you will find a solution, but if worst comes to worst I think we can still work around it. After all, more Americans are divorced than married. Maybe we can be spin it in a way that makes you sound like one of them.”
“One of whom?”
“One of the divorced many.”
“Great. Sounds like a campaign slogan.”
“Mr. President, would it help to talk to someone? A professional?”
“Marriage counseling? Is that your idea?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I’m in love with someone else and she knows it, that’s what’s wrong with it.”
Van Dyke was not expecting that answer. He knew of his boss’s affection for Susanna Colbert, but he had never heard the President say the words “I’m in love” until this moment.
“Susanna?”
“Of course. You know that.”
“I know you like her very much. I didn’t know you were officially in love.”
“Officially in love?” The President laughed. “That’s a good one. Maybe another slogan.”
Van Dyke got up from the couch. “I have to think about this. I don’t think it’s insurmountable, but it certainly will depend on how this goes down, if it does. Would Betsy cause trouble or just leave?”
“How the fuck do I know?” The President started to get upset. “Will she give me her blessing with Susanna? I doubt it very seriously.”
“I just meant that sometimes these things are done quietly and sometimes they are public and messy.”
“John, for God’s sake. I’m the president of the United States. How quiet do you think this will be?”
And of course he was right. No matter how this played out it, if it actually happened it would be a national scandal for months. But in a strange way Van Dyke thought it might not be as damaging as it appeared. “Sir, would you marry Susanna Colbert?”
“Would I marry her? Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. If you were to leave your wife because you were in love with the brilliant secretary of the Treasury, well, it might make you seem like you care about the country, in a way. At least she’s in the government. And the fact that she’s older, well, if I may say so, it makes it sound like the love is real. That you didn’t just go after some young assistant. Does that make any sense?”
The President hadn’t thought about marrying Susanna Colbert. It was the farthest thing from his mind at this moment, but he couldn’t blame his chief of staff for trying to think ahead.
“Listen, John, I don’t know anything now. Let’s not discuss it anymore tonight. I’m going upstairs to my separate bedroom and I’m going to read. Maybe everything will work out.”
As Van Dyke was walking to his car, he started to think about his own future. He had worked for Matthew Bernstein for twenty years. What would he do without him? Not that a president couldn’t be reelected if he were divorced. Just because it hadn’t happened didn’t mean it couldn’t. But it would be such a hurdle. Perception was everything in politics, and even if you were the leader of a country with more debt than it could ever pay back, even if you were the leader that had gone partners with China within your own borders, even if you were the leader at a time when the youth had never hated their elders more, it still could seem all right if your wife loved you. If that went away, people might think something really was wrong.
* * *
No one gave serious thought to Nate Cass’s proposal. No one except Nate, that is, who was running out of patience. A grand jury was going to be called to hear his brother’s tax evasion case, and Cass knew that if this went on much longer, it couldn’t be stopped.
Susanna Colbert had put it on the back burner. That was the advantage of being the secretary of the Treasury: There was so much on her plate that she could let things slide; something more important would always replace it. So when she looked at her wrist and saw who was on the screen, she got an uncomfortable feeling. “Hello, Nate.”
“Susanna, there is a grand jury scheduled in two weeks.”
“I didn’t know that, Nate.” And she wasn’t lying; she didn’t.
“If he goes before a grand jury, then stopping this will become messy and possibly unobtainable. Something has to be done now. Do you understand me?”
“I do. Let me see what I can do.”
“That’s exactly what I said to you. Except I delivered. I expect the same courtesy.”
“I will get on it immediately.” And she disconnected. She didn’t have to be told that time was of the essence. The very fact that a man as careful as Nate Cass had had this discussion over a device, and not in person, showed how urgent this was. Susanna reached John Van Dyke.
“I just got a call from Nate Cass.”
“I don’t have time, Susanna. I have bigger fish to fry.”
“John, he’s upset. Did you talk to the President?”
“No. And I won’t. He has other issues that are more important.”
“But this could rear its head. Cass would be someone to contend with in a reelection. He wields a lot of power.”
“Great. Maybe he can convince the President’s wife not to leave him.”
“What? What did you say?”
“I have to go now, Susanna. I’m sorry.”
This was the first Susanna had heard this, at least the first time someone other than the President had mentioned that the Bernsteins were in serious trouble. She was at a loss. She had no idea how to proceed.
* * *
Max Leonard called Kathy and invited her to dinner on a Wednesday night, the day before he had said he was leaving town. She hadn’t talked to him since he refused the money, but when she saw his face on her screen she knew she wanted to go. He picked her up and they went to Gino’s, a family-style Italian place that had been her father’s favorite, and she wondered if Max had chosen it on purpose. But Max had no idea. He’d even forgotten that they had eaten there before. He seemed very scattered.
“Why di
d you choose this place?” Kathy asked.
“I don’t know. It was close. I let the car choose it. I put in ‘Italian’ and the car said this was good.”
“Oh. I thought it was because of my dad.”
“No.” They sat there in silence and Kathy knew that something was wrong with him. He ate nothing, drank several glasses of water, and had trouble looking her in the eye. He was on something, but she wasn’t sure what. Finally she addressed it.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You’re speedy and you’re not eating and you’re weird.” Max didn’t try to argue. He admitted it.
“I’m taking something for my testosterone.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s too low.”
“Is that safe?”
“It’s fine. At my age your testosterone levels are supposed to be high; mine aren’t.”
“Did a doctor give you that?”
“Sure. Where would you think I got it?”
“In the mail.”
“So what if it came in the mail? It came from a doctor. I sent my fucking blood in and he told me this is what I needed. Why are you giving me the third degree?” It took Max only a few moments at the table to lose his temper. Kathy felt depressed. She still loved this man, but she was watching someone leave her life and she didn’t know how to stop it or even if she wanted to.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Max. Maybe you should take me home.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lost my temper. I have a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?”
“I can’t tell you because you won’t approve. Ever since you started working for that old fuck, you’re different. I’m still fighting the fight, Kathy. I still want equality.”
“And you don’t think I do?”
“You’re working for them now. They’ve got you. Your principles have been compromised.” Kathy got up.
“Take me home.”
Max didn’t seem to care whether they stayed or not. They left the restaurant and got in his car. He continued his rant. “You were once someone who saw the injustice and now your paycheck is coming from them. Do you realize that?”
“My paycheck is coming because I sell houses better than other people and I am earning it. I wasn’t born rich like you!”
“I resent that. I gave you the fucking money to pay your father’s medical bill so you wouldn’t have to work for a fucking eighty-year-old.”
“Stop the car.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop the car!” Max pulled over to the curb. Kathy got out even though she was miles from home. “I never asked for that money and I tried to pay you back and I’m going to pay you back even if I never see you again. I will put the money in your account whether you want it or not. Do not contact me. Something is wrong with you and you should see a doctor. And not a fucking doctor somewhere in Mexico who is giving you pills that are making you crazy.”
And with that she walked away. Max pulled up next to her. He rolled down the passenger window. He just looked at her for a moment and then said, “I love you, baby. You’ll understand soon enough. You will be proud of me.” And he drove off.
Kathy sat down on the curb and cried. How could such a strong flame burn out like this? But that’s what people always said. Too hot. Too hot to handle. Maybe there would be a miracle and he would come to his senses, unless he was already there. Her heart was breaking, but for the first time in her life she had something else to turn to. Not another person. A job. A career. And for Kathy, that was huge.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Almost ten thousand people at the Miami Dome had paid to see Shen Li. Paul Prescott, who organized the event, was over the top with excitement. “This is much better than the vice president,” he said to Jack Willman.
Paul and Jack were still dating, although Paul hated that word, but most importantly, they talked daily and Paul relied on him heavily for information. Sometimes Jack would say, “You only love me because I work at the Justice Department.” Paul didn’t even disagree. People love other people for what they do; there was nothing wrong with that, and if Jack got fired, Paul would deal with it then. In the meantime he was invaluable in helping Paul ease the fears of AARP.
A whole section of the monthly AARP news blast was called “Protecting Yourself.” It contained everything from how to carry concealed weapons, to naming safe places to live, to suggesting the kinds of younger people to stay away from. The Justice Department had done sophisticated profiling trying to figure out who hated the olds the most. The disturbing result was that it was millions of younger people, such a large number it scared the hell out of everyone. But the Justice Department always made a distinction between the people who showed up for a rally and the people who organized it. And as with all protests throughout history, they thought that if they could bring down the organizers, they could contain the rest.
Max Leonard read the AARP news blast every month and expected to see his name under a section called “Troublemakers.” He had mixed feelings when he didn’t. Part of him thought he wasn’t doing enough, and the other part thought he was being clever by flying under the radar. That part wasn’t true. The Justice Department knew Max Leonard well and so did AARP, but until there was an arrest, his name would not be published. They chose not to warn him that they had him in their sights.
AARP membership demanded that their organization publish as many names as they could get their hands on. There were other groups vying for their business and one of them, the Association of Older Americans, promised it would spend whatever it took to stop the violence. It said it would hire private police in order to catch and prosecute anyone hurting the seniors. Its slogan was “We’ll get ’em before the cops do.”
So Paul Prescott had to match that promise, which was why the names that Jack provided him were so important. Even if they were bogus.
* * *
The night that Shen Li was scheduled to speak to AARP was also the night The Sunset pulled into port in Miami for its two-month stay. Over a hundred of the ship’s residents had planned to see the event and had secured tickets weeks in advance. The ship’s director organized three buses to take them, and everyone was so excited. Including Brad Miller.
Li was getting a reputation as a kind of health god. His legend was growing as fast as older people liked to gossip, which was constantly. And in a world where there was so much hostility toward those who had reached a certain age, to see a young man who liked the older people and could also improve their lives—well, it was like seeing the biggest rock star in the world.
* * *
Max Leonard and his five associates took a flight from Indiana to Chicago, and then on to Miami. They also planned to see Shen Li speak, but that was not the real intent of their visit. Leonard had come to the conclusion after his embarrassing confrontation with Sam Mueller that he had to do something really big. Something that would finally capture the attention of the country, maybe the world. Something that would change laws and redistribute wealth. Something that would give younger people a reason to hope. That was his dream. And he felt he was about to accomplish it.
In a strange way it was what Matthew Bernstein wanted, too. Bernstein had campaigned on taking the burden off of the younger generation, but he was unable to accomplish anything in that area. If going partners with the Chinese in the rebuilding of Los Angeles was a success, he would go down in history as a great president and he would certainly be reelected. But he couldn’t help but think of what he’d wanted to do before the earthquake. It seemed that every action he’d taken since that fateful day was a reaction to what nature had thrown him. But his ambitions were still there, even though the China deal had put everything on hold.
And that was one more reason why the Max Leonards of the world were fed up. They were willing to work within a system if there was one. But now all anyone could talk about was California and how great China was
and how maybe China would build up the rest of the country. The idea of a new America had now become only about its buildings and infrastructure. It was like someone had detonated an intellectual neutron bomb. What happened to the new America that was going to let younger people breathe and dream and not be saddled with debt? Younger people now felt as if the earthquake had set them back even more. And Max was determined to do something that even the president couldn’t do: change the focus.
* * *
When Shen Li took the stage in Miami, the audience went wild. The older folks thought he looked so handsome, especially for a Chinese man. He showed them holographic images of the new Los Angeles, and he explained his ideas of putting “care” back in health care, showing people exactly how it could be done. When he asked, “Can you remember the last time someone knew your name as soon as you walked into a clinic?” the people in the audience broke out in applause. “Never,” they responded.
And then Li turned to the elephant in the room. Their protection. And for the first time he sounded more like a lawmaker than a health minister. He told the audience that in his opinion, violence toward older people was simply unacceptable. He used facts and figures to explain to them how China had stopped this kind of violence in its tracks, and said he thought America should do the same thing. Then he uttered one line that would make people love him forever: “Getting old is a right, not a privilege, and young people must treat their elders with the respect and the dignity that they would want for themselves.”
The audience stood up and applauded for a solid minute.
At that moment, Max and his group, who were sitting in the back row, had had it. This man was the anti-Christ. What is he saying? That these old fucks need even more care? Great. Let’s keep them going until they’re two hundred and then young people can work in labor camps to make the money to feed them. They didn’t stay for the end. They went back to their motel and felt more empowered than ever. Someone had to stop this madness.
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