Election Page 4

  There was a lot to consider, the rigors of the primaries and then, if luck was on his side, the general election, and, incredibly, she could become First Lady of the United States. That sent a jolt through him. Could this all really happen?

  But Melissa was no lightweight. In many ways, she was more suited for all that lay ahead than Hudson. After graduating Georgetown, she got a gig with the National Governor’s Association, which exposed her to political contacts in all fifty states and Capitol Hill.

  Her expression softened, then tightened. Melissa had a classic beauty. Expensive looks, Hudson had always thought, but out on the lake, or during hikes in the woods, a natural, rustic side came out that he found especially irresistible.

  He took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger. “What do you say?”

  Melissa smiled. “Are we ready to do this?” she asked. “Our lives will never be the same. Not like this.” She motioned out to the isolation of the lake. “Do you really want to be President of the United States?”

  He nodded. “I really do.” Pausing, Hudson looked into her eyes. “But the question on the table right now is do you want to be First Lady?”

  “Yes, I’d love to be your first lady.” She hugged him.

  “You already are, baby,” he whispered. “You always will be.”

  Back on land, they took a walk along the pebbled shore and enjoyed an early dinner at the Hope Lake Lodge. Ohio marriage law only required a license from the county clerk. They decided to have a quick courthouse ceremony in the morning before Florence and Schueller left town. Every other moment of their “romantic” afternoon was spent discussing the upcoming announcement and campaign.

  Meanwhile, at Hudson’s house, his children were still debating their father’s strange opportunity.

  “What do you really think?” Schueller asked his sister as they munched snacks in the living room. “And save the cheerleader stuff for Dad.”

  “It’s incredible. Dad will get to travel the country talking about all his great ideas for education reform. He’ll get his name known. Probably write a book. Maybe he can even get out of the hardware business.”

  “What are you talking about? Dad’s going to be the president.”

  “What are you talking about? He’s never going to win. He won’t even get the nomination. I think he could win the Ohio primary, but how could he ever last that long?”

  “Vonner,” Schueller said. “Do you know who he is?”

  “I’ve heard of him. Everyone has. He’s like a zillionaire.”

  “Yeah, and he picked Dad. That means Dad is going to win.”

  “You can have billions and still lose. Remember Ross Perot? I mean, I think a lot of voters will like Dad, but how many will really get a chance to get to know him, and is anyone going to trust someone with zero experience?” She dipped another carrot stick into a bowl of hummus. “I looked at the polling data Vonner sent them. I get that people are tired of career politicians and billionaires, that they want an ordinary person like themselves, and that Dad fits that, but—”

  “And remember,” Schueller said scornfully, “once Vonner decided they wanted someone like Dad, they had to pick someone. It just turns out Dad is most like Dad. He’s a veteran from Ohio, a former teacher big on education, honest, small town, no politics, no skeletons in his closet, blah, blah, blah.”

  “And he looks like a movie star,” Florence added.

  “Oh yeah, you’re right. Let’s not forget Dad does look like a movie star.”

  “You really think he can win?”

  “He’s going to win,” Schueller said. “Vonner is a robber baron.”

  “A phrase only the son of a history teacher would use in this century,” Florence said, laughing.

  “You want to talk history?” Schueller snapped, pointing to his father’s collection of antique textbooks as if they contained the answer. “I’m telling you, it’s a historical fact that whoever holds the purse strings of a country ultimately rules the country, and in our case, that’s the Federal Reserve. They manipulate and control the economy.”

  “I may not be up on history and government as much as you, little brother, but isn’t it the Fed’s job to manipulate and control the economy?”

  “They shouldn’t even exist, but their official role is to provide the nation with a safe, stable financial system, which includes combatting inflation. But it’s all a scam to consolidate and maintain power and wealth for the greedy elite.” Schueller had paced to the other side of the room and stopped to stare at another of his father’s collections, this one a group of about forty vintage tools. “Why does Dad keep this rusty old junk?”

  “How is Vonner connected to the Federal Reserve?”

  “All the super-rich are in on it. Do you really think you can make billions of dollars being honest? Vonner is a criminal just like the rest.”

  “Dad’s a smart guy, Schueller. He knows what he’s doing. All your conspiracy theories are just that . . . theories.”

  “I’m not the only one who believes this stuff.”

  “Yeah, the internet is full of nutcases,” Florence said. “But tell me this, why Dad? He’s not in on it. Why not just put in a puppet who would do exactly what he’s told?”

  “I don’t know.” Schueller sat back down next to his sister on the big leather couch while grabbing a carrot. “That’s what worries me the most . . . why Dad?”

  Chapter Nine

  The wedding ceremony was very quick, or, as Hudson put it, “It takes longer to get checked out at the grocery store than it does to get married.” Florence and Schueller acted as witnesses and Hudson’s sister, Trixie, who was the general manager of Pound Hardware and Plumbing, brought flowers. Twelve minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Hudson Pound stepped out of the courthouse into the cold, sunny Ohio morning, taking the first steps of a journey at least one of them hoped would eventually lead them to the White House.

  “It’s a long road,” Hudson said to his sister, who only that morning had been told of both the marriage, which didn’t surprise her, and the plan to seek the presidency, which shocked her to the point of humor. Trixie was tall and blonde like her younger brother, but her hair color, like her tan, was manufactured.

  She’d actually been with the Pound Hardware company longer than he had. An old army buddy of Hudson’s owned the first store and gave Trixie a job as a favor. A few years later, when Hudson, a young untenured teacher, lost his job to budget cuts, he hired him, too. Within weeks of Hudson coming on board, they were offered the chance to buy out a competitor. Hudson’s meager savings, together with some money his wife had inherited, made the deal possible, and suddenly Hudson owned half of a mini-chain of stores. By the time they had four more locations, his buddy had met a woman while on vacation in Mexico and wanted to sell out his share. That’s when Hudson’s relationship with Titan Capital & Trust Bank began.

  In the years since, he’d doubled the number of locations and tripled revenues, until a major factory in the area closed and weakened the local economy. Now everything he’d built was at risk.

  Less than four weeks after he married Melissa, Hudson stood behind the curtains of a sturdy platform in Columbus Commons, a six-acre park in the middle of Ohio’s capital city. The surprisingly large crowd included hundreds of representatives from the national media. Word had “leaked” forty-eight hours earlier that the Super PAC, Real Americans for Real Change, which had already raised a record $290 million, was going to support an unknown candidate, “a real American,” with no political experience. Every major cable news channel and all the network morning shows had booked the mystery person. Even before anyone knew his identity, he was already famous. And now, only moments remained before the unveiling, before Hudson Pound instantly became a household name.

  He stood thinking, repeatedly twisting his wedding ring and trying not to panic. For a month, he’d been subjected to seemingly endless sessions with “handlers.” Vonner had sent media consultants, foreign policy and
economic teams, strategists of all types, and experts on everything in order to prepare the former history teacher. Once, he had complained about all the efforts to “mold” him.

  “I’m supposed to be running as an ‘everyman’ and ought to be allowed to be myself.”

  “As a former teacher, Hudson, you should know that one must never stop learning,” Vonner had responded.

  Hudson was, in fact, a natural. His love of history, debating, and public speaking, combined with an impressive military background, running a small business, and amazing school board achievements, made easy work for his “tutors.” And his daughter was right on both counts; Hudson was smart, and he did look like a movie star.

  “Any second thoughts?” Melissa asked, squeezing his hand.

  “Hundreds of them!” Hudson laughed. “I wonder if Vonner has any?”

  The billionaire had decided to stay away, knowing his presence would only invite controversy. “Hudson needs to shine on his own,” he’d said.

  Florence and Schueller were on hand, both nervous for different reasons. His son still believed his father had fallen into a web of corruption that none of them understood, and his daughter worried that the NorthBridgers, who wanted a second American Revolution and who’d yet to be captured, might decide to take out another presidential candidate. Hudson hugged them both. Now wasn’t the time for further family debate, but Hudson reminded both his children that Vonner had provided a large security detail.

  He strode confidently onto the stage and surveyed the large gathering. Minutes before, Emmitt “Fitz” Fitzgerald, his recently installed campaign manager, whispered in his ear that there were more than ten thousand people in attendance.

  “Where did they come from? What are they doing here?” Hudson had asked disbelievingly.

  Fitz, a wiry, nerdy-looking man sporting big square eyeglasses and an infectious smile, which he seemed to use as a weapon, gave a vague response. “They’re here for you, the man who promises to take back their house!”

  He stepped onto the stage. “Thanks for coming out today. My name is Hudson Pound. It’s safe to say that not many of you know me, although a few of you might have traveled to the southeastern part of the state and shopped in one of my hardware stores. Maybe one of you served with me in the United States Army, or perhaps a former student of mine is in the audience. Because, although I did serve in the army, taught history in the public school system, served on the school board, and grew a small business here in Ohio, there is one thing that I have never done. I have not held public office.”

  A raucous smattering of applause interrupted him.

  “I’m just a regular guy, a true American willing to serve this great country and then, as soon as possible, return to my normal life. Being a politician should never be a career.”

  More applause.

  “Being a politician should be a very short and unpleasant route to showing which person is best qualified to serve the public at a given time. And right now, it’s the right time for one of us—one of the commoners—to bring back some basic common sense to Washington.”

  Someone in the crowd began the chant, “Pound, Pound, Pound!”

  “I am running as a Republican, but I do not exclusively hold every traditionally Republican idea as sacred.” His voice escalated. “Lincoln was a Republican, and I believe our country is more divided now than it has been at any time since the American Civil War. So please don’t think of me as a Republican, think of me as a regular American, a veteran, a teacher, a small businessman, a citizen involved in his community, and concerned, like all of you, about our great country. It is time to return to our Founders’ vision and bring regular Americans back into government. Of the people, by the people, FOR the PEOPLE!”

  The crowd erupted.

  Chapter Ten

  The days after his announcement were an awful grind during which Hudson relied on Fitz or other staff members to keep him informed on who, what, and where throughout constant TV appearances, interviews, and travel, with little food and even less sleep.

  “How did we get such a big staff already?” Hudson asked his campaign manager, who always seemed to have a phone to his ear and a Coke in his hand.

  “Money talks, my friend,” Fitz said. “But don’t get the wrong idea, everyone loves you, loves the idea of an average joe running for president.” Fitz sucked down the last of his soda and immediately grabbed another can. “They can trust you. Imagine that . . . trusting our leader.”

  Hudson gave a half-hearted laugh, trying to decide if he actually liked Fitz.

  “We’ll be doing a major, major media blitz to get your numbers up fast,” Fitz said with a wink. “Got to make sure you qualify for the debates.”

  Hudson got through the media storm because he’d been well prepared and, along the way, discovered that he had actually enjoyed it. Talking about issues, recounting history, and meeting new people excited and invigorated him. The media did truly seem to love Hudson, and he’d become such an overnight sensation that a few of the other candidates were already taking swipes at him. Even Thorne, the Republican shock-jock, tried unsuccessfully to engage Hudson in a Twitter battle.

  When Hudson finally returned home for a quick two-day break, he found himself sitting alone in his hardware store office, hardly knowing what to do. It felt as if a warped reality had taken over his life. During the brief respite, he and Melissa hoped to get out to the lake. Otherwise, sleep and normal food had been prescribed to recharge his batteries. Already what he wanted most was as much isolation time as possible.

  He’d gone into the store only because he felt so comfortable and grounded there. Plus, even though Trixie could handle everything, there were still the TC&T loan proceeds to manage and a few other matters she wished to discuss. Hudson had to keep the stores going. He knew there was no way he’d actually become president, and after Governor Cash or Governor Morningstar won the election, he’d have to go back to selling nuts and bolts.

  When Trixie knocked on his office door, Hudson said he was ready to review the accounts, but his sister had a distressed look on her face.

  “Trixie, what’s wrong?”

  “There’s a reporter out there.”

  “Another one?” Hudson asked. They’d quickly become a nuisance at all the hardware stores. “Get rid of him, like you’ve done with all the others.”

  “This one is different,” Trixie said. “This one is Fonda Raton.”

  “The Fonda Raton?” Hudson swallowed hard and looked at the phone. He considered calling Vonner, but remembered the billionaire was unreachable for the afternoon—some big meeting in Zurich. He could have probably reached Fitz, and knew that’s really what he should have done, but fresh off the success of his whirlwind media tour, he felt confident. “Send her back,” he said. “Might as well get her over with.”

  Fonda Raton wasn’t blonde-bombshell-gorgeous like so many women in the media, but the thirty-something brunette definitely had a kind of beauty, which she wore like a faded pair of jeans, because when anyone described Fonda, looks were several notches down on the list. First came her cleverness, then the strategic mind, next her political instincts, followed by a powerhouse of intelligence, computer skills, networking, the ability to “win friends and influence people,” and, last on the list, was her pretty face. Fonda Raton had built a mini media empire on the internet that brought in millions, but it wasn’t the money, it was the power. The Raton Report had scooped every other news organization on hundreds of important stories, including a dozen major ones. She specialized in corruption of the fat cats and justice for the underdogs. Her unofficial motto was “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

  The fact that she showed up at his office unannounced shouldn’t have been a surprise. It was her style, and it worked, as Hudson had already second-guessed his decision to see her. It unnerved him that she knew he was there, at the store. Hudson was, after all, running for president of the United States. He could have been anywhere, but she knew. A
woman like Fonda didn’t waste time on wild goose chases.

  Maybe she’ll go easy on me if I face her fire now, like I have nothing to hide, like I’m not afraid, he thought. And I don’t have anything to hide. But he knew he did have something to hide. She may know how to find me, but she can’t know about that.

  No one could know his greatest secret.

  “Hudson,” she said sweetly as she walked into his office, taking in the room like a Commando checking a strike zone. While they shook hands, her left hand came up and casually lingered on his shoulder. “Thanks for seeing me with no notice. I’m sure you’re getting barraged with requests.”

  “You took a chance I’d be here.”

  “Oh, I was in the neighborhood.”

  Hudson smiled. “Of course you were.” Fonda was thinner than he’d expected from the few photos he’d seen online. She had a lean, athletic build. Her long, safari-brown hair seemed sunny, and was styled in one of those cuts that looked like each hair had been cut individually.

  “I love the trucks,” she said, pointing to his collection of toy old-fashioned hardware vehicles. “You really are a hardware man.”

  “Did you think we made it up for the election?”

  Fonda laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Ol’ Vonner is a wily devil.”

  “Devil is a strong word, Ms. Raton.”

  “It is, it is,” she said distractedly, pulling her hair back in a ponytail. “And, Hudson, please call me Fonda. You and I are going to be good friends before this is over.”

  He was pretty sure she winked at him, but Fonda was a whirlwind, so it was impossible to be certain.

  “What exactly is your relationship with Arlin Vonner?” she asked.

  “He’s a supporter,” Hudson said carefully.

  “Yes, the whole world knows he’s backing your campaign. If you pardon my bluntness, that’s the only reason anyone has heard of you, the only reason you’re even showing up on the most recent CompuPoll.”