by Tom Grace
“I trust you’ll find a way to spin that to our advantage, too,” the President said as he tapped his glass against Page’s. “The silver lining here is that the old plant will have to buy plenty of emissions permits. In fact, I’ll bet news of the blackout is already having a positive effect on the permit price.”
A crawl running across one of the screens beneath a business news anchor listed the permit price up to $32.13 per ton.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
ON AIR
“You know who I am,” Denby declared to open his broadcast. “You know what this is, and you know why we are here. So let’s dispense with the pleasantries and get straight to work. We have a lot to cover and only three short hours in which to do it.
“Just a few hours ago, GOP nominee Ross Egan was taken into custody by the FBI for questioning. He has not, as yet, been charged with any crime. These are the known facts and anything else you may be hearing from the mainstream media apparatchiks is either idle chatter or malicious campaigning for the President.
“As to the raid and arrest—am I the only one who finds the timing suspiciously convenient for the President? The term that comes to mind is October surprise. The President, arguably one of the world’s biggest cheerleaders for climate change regulation and the greening of our nation’s economy, launched a baseless allegation during the last debate, in effect accusing Ross Egan of fraud and conspiracy. And his complaint, get this, is that windmills—which all tree-hugging liberals just love as long as they don’t have to see them from their tony enclaves—are so inefficient that they could not possibly generate the amount of electricity Egan claims he and his parents are selling to the local utility.
“The utility never complained that they weren’t getting the power and, just before the start of this program, released a statement that its audits of the meters on the Egan property accurately reflect the amount of power it received from the Egan wind farm.
“So instead of asking Egan to voluntarily come in and answer some questions about how he is generating electricity, the regime roars in locked and loaded like they’ve cornered public enemy number one— though in the eyes of the regime desperate to stay in power, Ross Egan is public enemy number one.
“In the process of arresting Egan in the most publicly damaging way possible, the regime inadvertently triggered a regional blackout that they’re now trying to pin on him as well. Remember, friends—it’s not the facts that matter to the left, it’s the seriousness of the allegation.
“All we can say for certain is that Ross Egan knows a hell of a lot more about energy than our President, and he has done far more as a private citizen to empower people than our President has in his long and distinguished career of political agitation and community organizing.
“In a related and similarly breaking story, the regime unleashed its latest horror on us this morning to the fawning adulation of the liberal media. Like most of the laws and policies proffered by this administration, the New York Climate Exchange—which we all know is anything but nice—was cobbled together out of dead ideas like the regulatory equivalent of Dr. Frankenstein’s monster. That monster was jolted to life this morning by edict and has been unleashed on the world. Or so we thought.
“As we have discussed at length on this program, free markets exist in the absence of government, not because of it. The Wall Street we all know started with a group of twenty-four traders under a buttonwood tree in Manhattan, not because the President at the time willed the exchange into existence. So the NYCE is not a true exchange but a political wolf dressed in free market finery.
“Now, there are a few dirty little secrets about the President’s climate exchange. First, the government has no desire for American industry to reduce its carbon emissions. To do so would eliminate the government’s income stream from the sale of the permits. It’s like the tax on gasoline— if we stopped using internal combustion engines completely, the government would lose billions of dollars in revenue. The government makes more money off the sale of each gallon of gasoline than all of the oil companies combined, and they do nothing to bring that product to market. By way of the tax code, and now this exchange, the government has a vested interest in things staying just as they are and taxing the status quo.
“The second dirty little secret is that the real green objective of the NYCE is the money that will line the pockets of investors backing it. Make no mistake—the climate exchange is not a charitable institution or feel-good nonprofit. There is some very big money behind the exchange and they expect a solid return on their investment.”
“But Garr, but Garr,” Denby said in a mock simpering falsetto of a leftist, “aren’t these well-intentioned investors entitled to a return for the good the exchange will do? I thought you were a cheerleader for the free market.”
“Yes I am, but this is anything but free market entrepreneurship. This exchange is crony capitalism at its worst. The President used the power of the government to create a market that otherwise has no earthly reason to exist. By design, his well-heeled political backers got an exclusive franchise to market the government permits, and the President, through his not-so-blind trust, gets a cut of the action that could make him a multibillionaire.
“I say could because there is a tragic, or from my point of view karmic, flaw in the design of this parasitic exchange. The NYCE is based, as I said earlier, on the hope that the engine that drives the private sector will continue for the foreseeable future to be carbon-based.
“Imagine, if you will, a technological innovation in the realm of energy production that completely alters how we create the power that drives our economy. Such an innovation would torpedo this artificial market for carbon permits and take those who hoped to profit from it down as well.
“My friends,” Denby said with an undercurrent of delight in his voice, “such an innovation does indeed exist.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
In a suite on the opposite side of the trading floor, Maya Randell and her husband sat patiently observing the opening day of trading. She was sipping a cup of green tea while her husband enjoyed an espresso.
The monitors in the Randells’ suite silently displayed feeds from the exchange floor and several of the cable news and business channels. The room was filled with the sound of a Garr Denby webcast that filled one of the monitors. Shortly after noon, the news channels all abruptly switched to a live feed from China. Their respective reporters were staged along the security fence outside of a large industrial facility near Beijing.
“This looks interesting,” Burton said as he used a remote to mute Denby’s audio and increase the volume on one of the newscasts.
“… and I am standing just outside Beijing Power Plant Number One,” the reporter announced. “We have unconfirmed reports of unusual activity at this, the oldest of the coal-fired power plants serving China’s capital city. What this unusual activity might be, we can only speculate, but the presence of the Chinese military indicates the seriousness of the situation.”
Army trucks and soldiers on foot raced into position. Several of the trucks towed field equipment that the soldiers quickly trained on the power plant.
“And from this vantage point,” the reporter continued, “we cannot tell just what the Chinese army is aiming at the plant.”
One by one, powerful floodlights cut through the dark to illuminate the power plant’s towering smokestacks. Most of China’s ever-growing demand for electricity was sated with coal, and the thick smog that blanketed Beijing was the price its citizens paid for that power.
The first of the smokestacks shuddered as a cloud of dust burst out from around its base. It rose up ever so slightly and hovered for just a second before collapsing straight down as if a trapdoor had sprung open beneath it. Its siblings disappeared in similar fashion, replaced by the growing cloud of dust.
“The soldiers are cheering,” the reporter said, confused at the unfolding scene. “The collapse of the smokestacks here at Beijing
Power Plant Number One was not an accident, but rather a precisely controlled demolition. The remainder of the power plant is still intact and, from what I can see, the lights are still on in China’s capital city.”
One of the monitors chimed and the screen switched into videoconference mode. Computers at both ends of the call connected. Chinese Chairman Chen Yung-Chin appeared on screen, seated in his Beijing office.
“Wan shang hao, Chairman Chen,” Maya said in greeting.
“And a good day to you and your husband,” Chen replied.
“I trust that you are monitoring the opening of the climate exchange.”
“I am indeed, with great interest. The price has quickly risen past forty US dollars per metric ton. Demand for carbon permits appears quite strong.”
“Demand is largely a matter of perception,” Maya posited. “Artificial scarcity alone causes the price of these permits to rise irrationally. The awakening of a new reality will bring it down as quickly as your smokestacks.”
“And with it, the houses of our mutual enemies.”
Burton tapped the Bluetooth headset on his right ear and uttered a one-word command: “Sell.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
TRAVERSE CITY, MICHIGAN
“Mr. Egan!” a gaggle of reporters shouted in unison, clamoring for attention as Egan emerged with a pair of his Secret Service bodyguards.
Egan signaled he would be with them in a moment. It was a brisk fall evening with a hint of snow in the air. Aware of the national news value of the situation, the local police had established traffic controls on this section of the city’s downtown and cordoned off an area for the press.
Camera trucks filled the two-lane street and the adjacent parking spaces in front of the four-story building that housed the FBI Resident Office. Egan waved to his father, who stood with the rest of his security detail and their vehicles on the opposite side of Front Street.
“You want me to handle this?” Egan’s attorney asked.
“Naw,” Egan replied. “They need to hear it from me. I would appreciate it if you’d fill my dad in on the highlights.”
“Sure.”
As his lawyer departed, Egan approached the awaiting press.
“It’s been a long day and I don’t have anything prepared, so let’s get right to your questions.”
Egan pointed to a reporter from the local paper.
“Have any charges been filed against you?”
“If they had, I don’t think I’d be standing here talking to you,” Egan replied with a laugh. “The FBI and the EPA simply had some questions and I was forthcoming in all of my answers. I wish to be very clear on this point—my energy research has not violated any laws or regulations imposed by the local, state, or federal authorities.”
“What about the claim that you defrauded the electric company, that your windmills could not generate the quantity of power you were selling?”
“Two separate questions. The claim that I defrauded my local utility is baseless. I have provided documentation and affidavits confirming that my parents and I delivered every watt of power for which we were paid. Regarding my windmills—I never claimed they were the sole source of the electricity we were selling.”
“But you claimed you were selling green power,” a reporter countered skeptically.
“And I stand by that claim. My power source is as green as wind and solar, but far more efficient. And unlike wind and solar, my power source can work anywhere in the world, day or night, and it poses no environmental threat in the event of a natural or man-made disaster. It also powered the collapse of the climate exchange earlier today.”
“So you admit your campaign is funded by the Chinese government?” a reporter asked pointedly.
“My campaign is funded solely by Just-A-Buck contributions from individuals and my personal financial resources. I have taken no foreign money whatsoever.”
“But how could the Chinese have done what they did if you didn’t sell them the technology? Is it even legal for you to have sold it to them?”
“I didn’t sell China a thing. I licensed my innovation to Terrafuma Energy, and I received fair-market value from them for my years of work. Terrafuma Energy, in turn, negotiated a deal with the Chinese government to upgrade their fossil-fuel power plants with the technology I created. Terrafuma Energy has and will continue to receive fair value for these upgrades. And Terrafuma’s shareholders, of whom I am one, will benefit from this transaction.
“What Terrafuma did is no different than a pollution controls company installing scrubbers on China’s smokestacks—except that my technology eliminated the noxious emissions completely. Regarding your second question—Terrafuma’s attorneys fully reviewed the deal and there are no laws in China or the United States that prohibit the sale of purely commercial power-generating or emissions-control technology. Terrafuma’s deal with China is perfectly legal and has already made a noticeable cut to Beijing’s infamous smog.”
“But in collapsing the climate exchange, haven’t you and your Chinese partners damaged a vital force in combating man-made global warming?”
“Assuming I accept the premise of your question, which I don’t, then emitting carbon into the atmosphere is bad because it’s altering our planet’s natural pattern of warming and cooling. The climate exchange sought to control the emission of human-generated carbon and make a few individuals very rich. By definition, it needed to restrain human activity by robbing individuals of their resources, namely money. This kind of exchange is not free market capitalism—it’s taxation.
“My innovation eliminates the emission of human-generated carbon and provides every nation on earth with real energy independence.”
“And it’s going to make you very rich,” a reporter offered with a derisive snort.
“It already has,” Egan replied with a laugh. “But that is my due as the creator of something from which you and every other person in the world will derive a benefit. What I’ve done fundamentally shifts the global economy away from fossil-fuel-based energy to a clean, green power source that will provide as much power as we need for as long as there is a planet. I ask you this: Which candidate has done more to achieve the stated goals of the environmental movement—the President or me? And don’t I deserve to reap the rewards of my labor, or is the wealth my invention will create somehow unfairly stolen from those who couldn’t conceive what I’ve done?
“Yes, I expect to become extraordinarily rich because of my invention, and every dollar of that wealth represents newly created value. Every dollar fabricated by the President and his ilk was taken from someone else. The left does not create wealth, they confiscate it.”
Egan noticed his father standing across the street pointing at his watch.
“I’ve got time for one more question,” Egan announced, and then pointed at a young reporter.
“Could you comment on the blackout resulting from the raid on your family farm? When will your power plant be back on line?”
“Like any parent to their child, I am very protective of my creation. The raid by federal agents triggered a self-destruct mechanism I installed to defend my right to intellectual privacy. The blackout was caused by this politically motivated raid, which was ordered by my opponent’s administration. Since the President and his supporters are so troubled by my ability to create clean power, I leave it to them to pick up the slack. In the meantime, I understand that an idled coal-fired generator has been brought back on line and a plume of carbon-rich smoke is now billowing into the atmosphere. Thank you.”
Egan ambled across the street with his security detail and slipped into the back of the Humvee. His father was in the passenger seat with a Secret Service agent behind the wheel. In the back seat, Niki switched off an LCD screen mounted in the back of the driver’s seat.
“They carried your impromptu press conference live,” Niki said as he sat down beside her. “You handled it quite well.”
“Thanks,” Ross said as he
slumped into the seat and buckled in.
Niki took his hand and gave it a supportive squeeze.
“The combined disasters of the raid and the NYCE collapse have driven the President into hiding,” Niki reported. “He has canceled all of his scheduled appearances.”
“We’ve bloodied him badly,” Ross said, “but the President is a political animal. This isn’t over until one of us concedes on Election Day.”
“During your detainment, Maya sent over some research materials that require your immediate consideration.”
Niki set an iPad on his lap and handed him a pair of earbuds. Ross drooped his head and sighed.
“How important?”
“Vitally important,” Niki replied. “Do it now, important.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
THE WHITE HOUSE
The President cradled the phone, his ear aching from the marathon conversation with Peter Sturla. He slumped back in the sofa, his collar button undone and his tie loose and slightly askew.
“How bad is it?” the First Lady asked sympathetically from the doorway.
The President simply rolled his eyes. “The kids finally asleep?”
The First Lady nodded. She padded softly across the floor and sat beside her husband, offering comfort.
“Today was a catastrophe. For a few short hours, we were billionaires. Then as quickly as we made all that money, it was gone. And not just gone—it took a big chunk of our blind trust as well.”
“What’s left?”
“Not much. We still have our pensions, the house, and the college fund, but the rest went down with the exchange.”
Much of the first couple’s personal wealth stemmed from sweetheart deals and inside information found within an expansive circle of political friends and supporters. Not bribery or graft per se, but quiet nudges at certain investments that always paid spectacular returns.
But the New York Climate Exchange was different. Here, the President had forced the creation of an economic entity that would not just serve his progressive agenda, but would allow him to amass the kind of wealth associated with the greatest dynastic families in American history. It was the kind of fortune that would place his name alongside the Astors, Rockefellers, and Gettys—making him not just a friend of Peter Sturla, but an equal.
