Fatherless: A Novel (26 page)

“That’ll be
Troy,” Kevin guessed before the audio butler could announce the caller’s name.

“Why would he call the home number instead of your phone?” Angie was still enjoying the “gwoup hug” launched at Tommy’s decree.
Leah sat on her lap, enduring Joy and Tommy’s combined embrace, clearly less fragile than her big brother had feared.

“I turned off my phone,” Kevin confessed.

Angie smiled like a mother proud of her child for tying his own shoes.

“But I better get this,” he continued. “Troy wouldn’t use our home number unless it was important.”

Kevin brushed aside Troy’s unnecessary apology for calling so early. “Is everything OK?”

“I think so,” Troy began. “I just hung up with Dr. Richert.”

“Bryce Richert?”

“He seemed pretty upset.”

Kevin waited for Troy’s usual specificity. Silence.

“That’s it? No details? He’s just upset?”

“I tried but he insisted on speaking to you directly. He wouldn’t even let me set an appointment. He wants you to call this
morning.”

Kevin glanced toward Angie, her face balancing curiosity about her husband and delight in her kids. He shrugged with a grin,
releasing her to ignore his telephone crisis.

“Put me through to his office,” Kevin ordered as he moved from the table toward his desk.

“In a second,” Troy answered. “There’s more.”

“More?”

“Senator Franklin’s office asked if you could meet privately for lunch.”

“Today?” Kevin asked.

“Noon. At McGuffey’s.”

Kevin recognized the restaurant’s name immediately. McGuffey’s had become both famous and infamous in DC lore. Famous as the
place presidents-elect chose to meet with potential cabinet appointees, major donors, and celebrity backers. Infamous as the
place in which President Lowman had requested the resignation of his former press secretary. Everyone knew that dessert at
McGuffey’s usually included some sort of press release.

Allowing a moment for Kevin to absorb the news, Troy went on to explain that he had already moved Kevin’s planned lunch with
the Bright Spots subcommittee. Tweaking the proposal language would have to wait until late afternoon.

“Make us proud, Congressman,” Troy added.

Kevin looked back toward Angie, who had begun directing the cleanup process, Tommy insisting he could carry the half-full
carton of milk while Joy placed her empty sippy cup on the kitchen counter. He decided not to tell her about the lunch meeting.
Whether good news or bad, he would rather explain specifics than speculate over possibilities.

He waited in silence while Troy transferred the call to Dr. Bryce Richert’s office.

“Congressman Tolbert?”

“Please, call me Kevin.” His customary request. “I understand you needed to speak to me about an urgent matter.”

“Yes, I do. It’s about the RAP interview.”

Kevin searched his memory for a connection. Nothing. “RAP interview?”

“The story about the Bright Spots proposal,” Dr. Richert said, causing Kevin’s stomach to tighten.

“How do you know about that?” he asked. “I’ve only had a preliminary discussion with a journalist. No details.”

“Julia Davidson?”

“That’s right. We had an off-the-record conversation.”

“You also invited her to attend Tuesday’s presentation,” Richert added with irritation.

“With Anderson’s approval and an agreement she could not release anything without my express permission. Why? What’s happened?”

“I spent about three hours with Ms. Davidson yesterday. I was led to believe you encouraged her to interview me.”

Kevin mentally studied his conversations with Julia. “No, sir. I never mentioned you or any other member of the subcommittee.”

A brief silence told Kevin that Dr. Richert was redirecting his anger.

“I guess she never actually said you proposed the interview.”

“What
did
she actually say?” Kevin felt his own dander rising.

“She said she was writing a story on the Bright Spots proposal that would include substantial comments from Congressman Tolbert.
She told me you had invited her to attend the austerity coalition presentation. I vaguely remembered her face as soon as we
met at the ranch.”

“The ranch? You invited her to your home?”

“For lunch. She said she wanted to include my wife in the interview, see photos of the kids and grandkids, that sort of thing.
I figured it was a good idea since we were talking about encouraging parenthood.”

Kevin said nothing while assessing whether the interview was good news or bad, whether Julia had kept or broken her word.

“She took quite a few pictures at both the house and the office.”

“You took her to your office too?” Kevin grew more uncertain.

“She said it would help to show me in my professional context. What better showcase for a fertility proposal than an ob-gyn
who has delivered as many babies as me?”

Kevin had to agree. But then he remembered that Dr. Richert had phoned because he was upset about something. “How’d you feel
about the interview?”

“Not good.” The anger returned to the doctor’s voice. “Not good at all. That’s why I called your office so early this morning.”

“Go on.”

“I very much doubt Ms. Davidson or RAP Syndicate plans to present your proposal in a positive light.”

No surprise.

“Tell me what happened,” Kevin said.

“Everything began just fine. Ms. Davidson seemed genuinely interested in Carol’s and my decision to have such a large family.
Asked about the good and the bad, our food budget, that sort of thing.” He paused. “But the more questions she asked the less
comfortable I became about her agenda.”

“Like what?” Kevin wondered.

“The usual nonsense. How do we justify bringing so many children into a world with scarce resources? Do I ever feel bad that
Carol curtailed her career to raise children? Does our religion oppose birth control? You know the litany.”

He did.

“Anyway, by the time we had toured my office and she had taken a picture of our wall of babies I sensed the tone of her questions
shift from mildly antagonistic to overtly hostile.”

“Wall of babies?” Kevin asked.

“Since my first delivery I’ve taken a picture of every baby. We’ve been adding those pictures to a montage on the hallway
between the waiting area and my examination room. Must be nearly two thousand by now.”

“She took a picture of your pictures?”

“Yep. You should see it. Pretty impressive. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”

“And now?”

“Now I worry. It felt like that wall turned her from Jekyll to Hyde. It also seemed to put an idea in her head.”

“What kind of idea?”

“Not sure. But I don’t think she wanted the picture to show how much I’ve contributed to the world. It was more like she thinks
I’ve been cluttering it.”

Kevin’s gut tightened further.

“I’d bet my last dollar Ms. Davidson wants to portray your proposal as something that would clutter rather than help the financial
crisis.”

He let the comment settle, then continued.

“Be careful, Kevin. I’ve seen this before, back in ’38 and ’39. They won’t play fair.”

Kevin recalled Dr. Richert’s early efforts to oppose the Youth Initiative. He had been part of a small but vocal cohort of
medical professionals condemning subsidized transitions as a violation of medical ethics. Few listened. Any press that did
cover them took cheap shots by labeling them moralizing crusaders more interested in a steady stream of private-pay patients
than the overall health of public coffers.

“I apologize, Dr. Richert.” He meant it, both for the present situation and for his silence back then.

“Call me Bryce.” The angry colleague had become a close ally.

“I was trying to be proactive, Bryce. They plan to do a story with or without my input. I cut a deal. I gave Julia preemptive
access in exchange for a guarantee.”

“What kind of guarantee?”

“Whatever else she includes in the story, she must allow me to make the case for our proposal in my own words.”

“And you expect RAP to play fair?”

“I expect Julia Davidson to play fair.”

“Have you read any of her previous columns? I hardly think she will suddenly become neutral after a successful career undermining
everything people like us believe.”

“I don’t expect her to change her bias. But I think she’ll do her best to be evenhanded.”

“Why?”

Kevin hesitated to explain, but decided Bryce deserved to know.

“She and my wife were best friends during high school. I don’t expect journalistic integrity to win the day. But I think the
lingering affections of a childhood friendship might motivate her to cut us some slack.”

“Humph. Don’t forget. Brothers shot each other during the Civil War. You don’t really think friendship trumps headlines, do
you?”

It was a question Kevin couldn’t answer. Yet.

Kevin apologized
self-consciously while grinning at the valet after searching his wallet for an appropriate tip. He had forgotten to get cash
before rushing to the restaurant.

“Catch you on the way out?”

The boy offered a deferential nod but appeared doubtful after noticing the ice-cream-stained stuffed animal and three child
car seats in the rear of the vehicle. Hardly the wheels of the typical power broker who would slide him the usual fifty.

“Don’t worry about it, sir.” Kevin couldn’t quite decipher whether the tone was one of disgust or pity. “A pleasure to serve.”

Pity.

Turning toward the door, Kevin paused to relish a few moments before entering McGuffey’s Restaurant. Inside he would enthusiastically
greet the leading contender for the nomination to the presidency. Senator Joshua Franklin had requested a private meeting,
meaning he had some important agenda. At this very moment the senator could be holding a first-draft statement for the press
announcing who knew what but requiring one last detail to be handled during a lunch conversation with the rising political
star from the great state of Colorado.

Kevin had cautioned himself.
Keep your expectations low
. Advice he was struggling to heed.

“Good afternoon, Congressman Tolbert.” The hostess stood behind a carved oak pedestal wearing a black cocktail dress and heels.
It had taken less than a second for the face recognition system to find his image on her list of reservations. “Senator Franklin
is waiting. May I take your coat?”

Kevin laughed to himself while the woman handed his coat off to another hostess. He was a long way from the hot dog cart where
he and Troy held their daily campaign strategy meetings.

“Please follow me,” she said, rounding the station.

He followed the woman through a labyrinth of tables occupied by various Washington elite: secretary of this, chairwoman of
that, legal council for such-and-such political action committee, each immersed in a conversation that traded the landscape
of one constituency in favor of another. The fate of someone’s health insurance program, school lunch funding, tax bill, business
regulations, research grant, or any one of countless other real-world priorities depended upon how well those enjoying the
McGuffey’s daily special played the power lunch game.

The hostess approached Senator Franklin’s table, where he was seated with two other guests rather than alone as Kevin had
expected. Apparently “private lunch” had more than one possible meaning.

“Kevin!” the senator said, offering his campaign-trail handshake. “So glad you could join me on such short notice.”

“Of course.” He looked at the third and fourth wheels, recognizing both.

“I believe you’ve met Kari.”

Kevin smiled nervously at the attractive aide he’d last seen walking away from his front porch after an unannounced visit
to his home.

“We met briefly,” he acknowledged.

“I’d also like to introduce you to a very good friend to our party, Evan Dimitri.”

The man sat motionless, every bit as unimpressed with Senator Franklin as he had been with Kevin Tolbert or, presumably, any
of the other politicians receiving his generous support.

“We’ve met,” Dimitri said, annoyed by the social formalities. “Stop wasting time.”

The senator took his seat like a scolded schoolboy, leaving only one opening. Kevin took his place beside Kari Samson. As
soon as he was seated she leaned slightly closer and placed her hand on his forearm.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Congressman.”

Kevin reached for the menu sitting on the table in an attempt to create a bit more distance between himself and her alluring
gaze.

“I hope you don’t mind that I invited Kari and Evan to join us,” Franklin began. “But I want to move quickly on something
and I thought it would be best for you to hear directly from the horse’s mouth. The horse being Evan, of course, not the lovely
lady.”

Franklin laughed while placing his hand playfully on Kari’s bare shoulder.

“Horse’s mouth?” Kevin asked, turning toward Dimitri’s stern face.

“Tell him, Evan.”

“Ever hear of the Saratoga Foundation?”

“I don’t think so,” Kevin confessed.

“Good. We like to stay below the radar.”

“It’s one of the most generous funding machines behind key races for national office,” Franklin interjected.

“Are you explaining this or am I?” Dimitri looked perturbed. Franklin turned sheepish. “Anyway. I chair the foundation. Our
most important fund-raising event takes place in a few months. We’re going to charter a cruise ship for about seventy of the
wealthiest political action donors. We’ve planned two days for them to interact with guys like Josh and yourself.”

Did he just place me in the same category as Joshua Franklin
? Kevin thought.

“The best way to get donors excited about your campaign is to let them speak into your agenda,” Dimitri continued.

“Speak into it?”

Dimitri rolled his eyes as if talking to a naïve child. “Small gifts come from small people willing to cheer at your rallies
and vote for your reelection,” he explained. “But the big money, the kind that wins national elections, comes from people
like me.”

Kevin believed it, especially in light of Dimitri’s earlier gift.

“Serious donors want some say in how those in office leverage our financial backing.”

He remembered the earlier lunch when Dimitri had “requested” that Kevin keep his mind open to a range of economic solutions.
He had hinted the bright spots concept would “round out” a bundle of ideas like the garnish on a main course.

“I need to know if you’re interested,” Dimitri added unnecessarily.

“Of course he’s interested,” Franklin said tepidly, looking toward Dimitri to make sure it was OK to continue. “Congressman
Tolbert is a smart lad. He’ll make a great contribution to the event. Just the kind of rising star donors like. Young. Bright.
Persuasive.”

Kevin said nothing while observing an exchange of knowing glances between Franklin and Dimitri.

“I think he’d be a great addition to something else,” Kari suggested.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, young lady,” the senator said with a photo-op grin. “I haven’t even received the nomination
yet. It’s way too early to think about cabinet posts or running mates!”

Running mates
? Kevin’s head began to spin.

“I want you to unpack the Bright Spots proposal,” Dimitri ordered. “Explain the research, the long-term benefits, specific
policy changes, the whole thing.”

The words finally came. “I’d be honored.”

“I plan to make it a big part of the austerity plan,” Franklin added. “And I want our donors to get excited about the concept.
But I also want them to get excited about you, Kevin. Even if we can’t sell your idea I’m confident we can sell you.”

“Can’t sell my idea?” Kevin felt a sudden surge of caution. “But I thought you said—”

Dimitri cut to the chase. “Listen, Tolbert. People want to feel good about our future. They like optimism about a brighter
tomorrow and all that.”

He paused as he noticed a passing waiter. “Four daily specials,” he shouted, flashing four fingers.

“A half portion for me, please,” Kari inserted, patting her firm tummy as if to suggest she needed to shed a few pounds.

“Where was I?” Dimitri asked. “Oh yeah. Your Bright Spots proposal sends all the right messages. Celebrate the young. Invest
in the future. Play with your grandkids. Who wouldn’t donate to that vision?”

“And it will balance out the tougher aspects of my plan,” Franklin added. “We need the financial impact of transitions, but
nearly forty percent of our base say they wish there were a better solution.”

“There is!” Kevin said, encouraged by a sentiment he had not heard Franklin acknowledge before. “In fact, my first draft of
the Bright Spots proposal included two halves of a whole. The strongest economic pockets show both high fertility and low
transitions. They combine for impact. You know, one plus one makes three.”

Dimitri looked disapprovingly toward Franklin. “What’s this about?” he asked, like a man spotting a dead fly in his soup.

“The senator missed my first-draft proposal,” Kevin said before Franklin could respond. “He didn’t get to hear all of the
research because Anderson tabled half of what I presented. In short, the brightest economic spots include two key trends,
more children and fewer transitions.”

Franklin lowered his hand from Kari’s shoulder and leaned inward. “I saw the research, Kevin,” he began. “But we can’t risk
losing the guaranteed savings and growth capital transitions create. If anything, we’ll need more transitions, not fewer.”

Kevin’s heart sank as Evan Dimitri retook the lead.

“Have you heard about a recent wrongful death claim against NEXT Inc. Transition Services?”

“Sure. A minor and his mother.”

“That case has many of our donors nervous.”

“Nervous?”

“Yes, Mr. Tolbert. Nervous. Do you have any idea of the potential legal ramifications of that case? Not to mention the political
fallout that could ensue.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Kevin confessed.

“There’s talk among some in our base that we should revisit the ethics of transitions.”

Kevin held his tongue, resisting the urge to show agreement.

“It’s a dangerous time to let research like yours throw gas on that sputtering flame,” Franklin added. “Especially when our
austerity package projects dramatic growth rather than decline in the practice over the coming decade.”

“What?” The shock outran Kevin’s composure. “You want to increase transitions?”

“Of course,” Franklin replied. “You’ve seen the census numbers. How else could we possibly avert another economic free fall?”

Kevin’s brain scrambled for a quick, obvious rebuttal. None existed.

A light seemed to go on inside Dimitri’s head. “I see,” he said knowingly.

“See what?” Franklin asked.

“I’m surprised at you, Congressman,” Dimitri said to Kevin, prompting a quizzical expression. “I would have thought your team
had researched my company before you cashed my donation check.”

“They did. Based upon your pattern of giving to fiscal conservatives we saw no reason to dig further.”

“So you have no idea why I would be troubled by the notion of curtailing transitions?”

Kevin stared blankly as Franklin shifted in his seat, apparently embarrassed by an unspoken oversight.

“Mr. Dimitri’s company owns the patent on PotassiPass.”

Kevin didn’t recognize the name, prompting Franklin’s further explanation.

“It’s the lethal injection serum used by NEXT transition clinics.”