Night had fallen over Washington's National Mall. Small groups of people strolled leisurely under the dim glow of the streetlamps.
On a bench beside the reflecting pool of the Lincoln Memorial sat Morris Dott, a new employee at Ricardo Real Estate Solutions. Not long ago, he had been the administrative secretary of the Congressional Housing Committee.
Tonight, he was meeting with Sinter Newman, secretary to Senator Wesson Jess of Colorado, who still served on that same Housing Committee.
Their connection traced back to the recent election. Morris's former boss, a senator from Rhode Island, had lost his seat. With the old senator's return home, Morris too lost his position.
Originally, Morris's career prospects had far outshone Sinter's. Morris was a graduate of the Colorado Infantry Academy, while Sinter had dropped out of high school. When Morris became a Congressional civil servant, Sinter had only just started in public service. In fact, Morris had even been Sinter's mentor when he joined.
But the relationship was strained. Back then, Morris made things difficult for the penniless, construction-worker-turned-public-servant Sinter. Later, once Sinter found a patron in Senator Jess and secured a position on a committee, he frequently clashed with Morris both openly and in secret.
Especially now, with Morris cast out of government, Sinter took every opportunity to humiliate him.
"Morris, what are you begging me for this time?" Sinter sneered. "Let's be clear—if you're asking me to help you get back into government, my answer is the same as before: absolutely not."
The only reason Sinter had agreed to meet was simple—he enjoyed seeing his old rival miserable. Hearing how low Morris had fallen was more satisfying than a night with a woman.
"No, no, Sinter," Morris replied with composure. "I'm already working at a company with a very bright future. Look at this suit—Brooks Brothers! I came tonight to offer you a chance to make real money.
Didn't you always say you wanted a home in D.C.? If you help me with something for my boss, I'm sure you could achieve at least a fifth of that dream."
For the first time that night, Sinter looked carefully at Morris in the faint park light. He froze in shock.
Gone was the image of a down-and-out loser. Morris's polished shoes gleamed in the dark; his suit fit perfectly, crisp and unmistakably expensive. Tentatively, Sinter reached out to touch the fabric—indeed, Brooks Brothers, the same quality his own boss wore. A single suit cost more than half his yearly salary.
Morris radiated confidence. Other than slightly bloodshot eyes—perhaps from overindulgence—he looked in fine shape.
That only made Sinter bitter. He had come seeking superiority, not to be shown up.
"You're talking to the wrong man," Sinter said acidly. "If you're planning a bank robbery, you should wait outside the prison gates to find your crew."
He rose, unwilling to waste another second.
"Wait, Sinter. I'm too old to rob banks. I came to put money in your pocket, nothing more. And don't overthink it—if your boss weren't on the Housing Committee, I wouldn't have bothered with you."
Morris spoke frankly, knowing Sinter's suspicious nature.
Sinter studied him again. In D.C., if someone wasn't robbing banks but had that kind of wardrobe, it could only mean one thing: they'd been recruited by a lobbying firm.
Lucky bastard, Sinter thought bitterly. Lobbying firms were the golden landing place for retired or dismissed civil servants.
"Which firm?" he asked.
Morris smiled with quiet triumph. This was the moment he'd been waiting for.
"Ricardo Real Estate Solutions."
Sinter shot to his feet, stunned. "You mean the lobbying firm founded by Mr. Valentino?"
When Morris nodded, Sinter could hardly contain his envy. Everyone in their circle knew Valentino was building several lobbying outfits, hiring waves of former civil servants. Some of Sinter's own friends had quit government to join. If not for his promising position under Senator Jess, he might have done the same.
"You're here for the National Housing Act?" Sinter asked.
"You know about it?" Morris was surprised.
"Of course. Thanks to Lyndon Johnson's 'secret-sharing' network, we clerks often know more than the so-called big shots. Everyone's aware the President and Mr. Valentino have clashed over this bill."
Morris chuckled. "So Johnson's system has even penetrated the White House—remarkable. Since you already know, I'll be direct. If you can influence Senator Jess to avoid voting against the bill, Mr. Valentino will give you this much."
He raised a single finger.
Sinter understood immediately: $10,000. More than three times his annual salary, for nothing more than whispering a few words in his boss's ear. If Jess voted "yes," the money was his.
And Morris wasn't the only one out lobbying. Valentino's firms employed scores of people like him. With nearly ten thousand congressional secretaries in D.C., not to mention the senators themselves, the sums involved would be astronomical.
Sinter marveled. No wonder Valentino dominated the front pages—his moves were colossal.
Then an idea struck him. Jess had barely kept his seat this election by borrowing heavily. Creditors were hounding him daily. What he needed most was cash.
Why not let Jess play a more central role—perhaps even sponsor the bill? It would solve his debt crisis and forge a bond with Valentino, one of Washington's richest powerbrokers.
"If my boss were willing to sponsor the bill," Sinter asked cautiously, "what would he gain?"
Morris's eyes lit up. At last—his chance at a D.C. home! Gripping Sinter's hand, he said excitedly, "I can't decide that. Come with me to meet Daniel."
Two days later, in Senator Wesson Jess's office on Capitol Hill, the phone rang.
"Wesson, listen carefully," the caller threatened. "You'd better repay us the day after tomorrow. Otherwise, your Colorado farm will settle the debt."
This wasn't the first such call. Jess snapped back: "I'm a U.S. Senator! I'll repay what I owe. But that farm you're talking about—my father's land—it's tiny, worth barely $20,000."
The voice on the line chuckled. "Don't underestimate us, Senator. South of Yellowstone, near Waterfall Town, there's a ranch worth over $2 million. They call it the Seleus Ranch. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Jess shot to his feet, furious.
Seleus Ranch was his pride, his life's work, the place he planned to retire. His creditors knowing about it terrified him.
"I'll repay. The day after tomorrow. I swear it."
Hanging up, Jess rubbed his temples. Repaying was easy to say—but how?
Just then, his secretary Sinter entered. "Senator, Congressman Field wants to see you."
"Field?" Jess frowned. He knew the man—a fellow Westerner and old acquaintance from Columbia University, now a California senator. But Field was Republican, Jess a Democrat. They rarely spoke. Why this sudden visit?
Moments later, Field arrived and got straight to the point.
"Wesson, I'm here as a messenger. You've heard of Mr. Valentino, surely. He's looking for someone to introduce the National Housing Act. You sit on the Housing Committee. Yes, the committee's weaker since Roosevelt's death, but it's still the best vehicle for this bill."
Jess arched an eyebrow. "But you're a Republican, and Valentino's known to back Democrats. Why are you lobbying for him?"
Field smiled faintly. "At his level, party lines mean little. You know I follow Mr. Taft. After his rift with his brother, Taft still kept his position as leader of the conservative Republicans—thanks in no small part to Valentino's support.
Think it over. I've already spoken to others. Opportunity won't wait."
He departed as abruptly as he'd arrived, leaving Jess stunned. What kind of lobbying was that? Half-hearted, almost careless.
But Jess understood: Republicans didn't want a populist housing bill to pass. Yet for Taft's sake, Field had to obey.
Still, the thought lingered. Jess was drowning in debt. Valentino had money. If the bill was inevitable, why not profit from it?
Once, Jess had been cautious, afraid to pick sides and risk losing everything. But now, without help, he'd lose everything anyway.
He rubbed his chin, eyes falling on Sinter. "You know many lobbyists, don't you? Valentino set up a few firms recently. Find a way to connect me with him. But don't be obvious—make it look accidental. That way, I can bargain for a better price."
What Jess didn't know was that everything had already been orchestrated by Daniel. Yesterday, after Sinter leaked news of Jess's debts, Daniel had effortlessly located the creditors—menacing mobsters who suddenly acted like lambs in Daniel's presence, handing over debt notes and following his orders.
Sinter had even overheard Valentino himself on the phone—young, but with a commanding, almost terrifying authority.
Every move Jess made had been predicted in advance. And Jess wasn't the only one—dozens of senators were being handled in similar fashion.
Leaving the office, Sinter slipped into a waiting Lincoln, where Morris sat behind the wheel.
Handing him a stack of bills, Morris said, "Fifty thousand dollars. Go buy yourself a house."
"And your bonus, Morris?" Sinter asked.
"Wherever you buy, I'll be your neighbor." Morris grinned.
Days later, the White House.
Looking at the National Housing Act now formally submitted by the Senate, President Truman erupted in fury.
"Traitors! All of them! Has the Democratic Party forgotten who its leader is? How dare they push this bill without my approval—and place it on my desk?"
Louis remained silent. He knew this was merely Truman's helpless rage.
As expected, the outburst soon gave way to weary resignation. Slumping into his chair, Truman muttered:
"I once thought Roosevelt was too harsh on businessmen, that he held back our nation. Now I see he was right. They… they really can control the President."
Louis said nothing.
Truman exhaled deeply. "I understand. Even as party leader, I can't oppose the will of everyone combined. I can't stop this bill. Prepare a press conference tomorrow.
If I can't block it, then at least I'll claim my share."