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Authors: Pamela Samuels Young
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hadn’t noticed until now.
“You ready to roll?” Wrigley asked, as soon as the President was gone.
“All set,” Erickson said.
“It’s extremely important that the media doesn’t get wind of our slate of candidates,” Wrigley said. “So other than Becker, you should not share this with anyone. You can tell your wife, but only if you can guarantee confidentiality. A leak could threaten your candidacy.”
Erickson had no intention of sharing his great news with Claire. “That won’t be a problem.”
Wrigley leaned back, crossed his legs, and extended his arm along the back of the couch. “As you know, we have a pretty thorough vetting process, but things can still slip through the cracks. You easily cleared the first round of vetting. Some other good candidates didn’t. Now we go a whole lot deeper.”
Erickson was dying to know who else was on the list, but such an inquiry would be out of line.
Wrigley fixed Erickson with a steely gaze. “There’s a question I need to ask, and you’re probably going to hear it a few more times before this is all said and done. Is there anything we don’t know about you, your family or your background that might cause embarrassment for the President?”
Erickson chuckled as if the question was absurd. “Absolutely not.” The lie rolled so effortlessly off his lips that he almost believed it himself.
Wrigley held Erickson’s gaze for a few more beats, as if giving him time to retract his answer. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” Wrigley rubbed his hands together, then bounced off the couch. “Then let’s get to it.”
The Chief of Staff led the way out. Walking two abreast in soldier-like formation, they made their way to a conference room, not far from the Oval Office. Already seated around a circular table were two men and a woman. All three looked to be in their late thirties. Too young, Erickson thought, to have presidential ties.
“This is your team,” Wrigley said. “They will be your primary contact throughout this process. And if you are indeed the nominee, they’ll be preparing you for your Senate confirmation hearing.”
Erickson walked around the table and greeted each person, only half-listening as Wrigley made the introductions.
His mind had wandered back to Wrigley’s pointed question in the Oval Office. Is there anything we don’t know about you, your family or your background that might cause embarrassment for the President?
Yes there is , Erickson answered in thought only. But don’t worry. I’m about to take care of it.
CHAPTER 11
T here could only be one explanation for the incredible turn of events in Waverly Sloan’s life. God loved him.
In three short weeks, Waverly had successfully completed the registration process and had a nice, new viatical broker’s license, complete with the official seal of the state of California. To top that off, the State Bar website still had him listed as an attorney in good standing. Thank goodness the wheels of justice turned at a snail’s pace.
Waverly spent the bulk of his days glued to the telephone, scouring his personal contacts and making presentations to the ones supplied by Vincent. Only two days after getting his license, he was having lunch with an old friend who mentioned that his sister was in the latter stages of breast cancer. By seven that night, Waverly was at her house signing her up. Her policy was only worth ninety thousand, but his nine grand off the top wasn’t a bad take for a few hours’ work. After paying Vincent back, he still pocketed four grand.
Just days after that, a bigger payoff literally fell into his lap. Lawrence Erickson, a hotshot partner from Jankowski, Parkins, contacted him about selling his wife’s policy. The referral came from a prominent probate attorney who handled the estate of one of Waverly’s clients who’d died days after he’d settled her case. Waverly had mailed the lawyer a slick-looking Live Now brochure, but never
“You ready to roll?” Wrigley asked, as soon as the President was gone.
“All set,” Erickson said.
“It’s extremely important that the media doesn’t get wind of our slate of candidates,” Wrigley said. “So other than Becker, you should not share this with anyone. You can tell your wife, but only if you can guarantee confidentiality. A leak could threaten your candidacy.”
Erickson had no intention of sharing his great news with Claire. “That won’t be a problem.”
Wrigley leaned back, crossed his legs, and extended his arm along the back of the couch. “As you know, we have a pretty thorough vetting process, but things can still slip through the cracks. You easily cleared the first round of vetting. Some other good candidates didn’t. Now we go a whole lot deeper.”
Erickson was dying to know who else was on the list, but such an inquiry would be out of line.
Wrigley fixed Erickson with a steely gaze. “There’s a question I need to ask, and you’re probably going to hear it a few more times before this is all said and done. Is there anything we don’t know about you, your family or your background that might cause embarrassment for the President?”
Erickson chuckled as if the question was absurd. “Absolutely not.” The lie rolled so effortlessly off his lips that he almost believed it himself.
Wrigley held Erickson’s gaze for a few more beats, as if giving him time to retract his answer. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” Wrigley rubbed his hands together, then bounced off the couch. “Then let’s get to it.”
The Chief of Staff led the way out. Walking two abreast in soldier-like formation, they made their way to a conference room, not far from the Oval Office. Already seated around a circular table were two men and a woman. All three looked to be in their late thirties. Too young, Erickson thought, to have presidential ties.
“This is your team,” Wrigley said. “They will be your primary contact throughout this process. And if you are indeed the nominee, they’ll be preparing you for your Senate confirmation hearing.”
Erickson walked around the table and greeted each person, only half-listening as Wrigley made the introductions.
His mind had wandered back to Wrigley’s pointed question in the Oval Office. Is there anything we don’t know about you, your family or your background that might cause embarrassment for the President?
Yes there is , Erickson answered in thought only. But don’t worry. I’m about to take care of it.
CHAPTER 11
T here could only be one explanation for the incredible turn of events in Waverly Sloan’s life. God loved him.
In three short weeks, Waverly had successfully completed the registration process and had a nice, new viatical broker’s license, complete with the official seal of the state of California. To top that off, the State Bar website still had him listed as an attorney in good standing. Thank goodness the wheels of justice turned at a snail’s pace.
Waverly spent the bulk of his days glued to the telephone, scouring his personal contacts and making presentations to the ones supplied by Vincent. Only two days after getting his license, he was having lunch with an old friend who mentioned that his sister was in the latter stages of breast cancer. By seven that night, Waverly was at her house signing her up. Her policy was only worth ninety thousand, but his nine grand off the top wasn’t a bad take for a few hours’ work. After paying Vincent back, he still pocketed four grand.
Just days after that, a bigger payoff literally fell into his lap. Lawrence Erickson, a hotshot partner from Jankowski, Parkins, contacted him about selling his wife’s policy. The referral came from a prominent probate attorney who handled the estate of one of Waverly’s clients who’d died days after he’d settled her case. Waverly had mailed the lawyer a slick-looking Live Now brochure, but never
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