Despite all that had been going on with this sideshow, the economy was humming along, and the world was relatively peaceful. By the end of the evening it was obvious I had won reelection, or election as President. I had a 5% margin in the popular vote, 63.5 million votes to Kerry's 57 million. I had an even bigger margin in the Electoral College, 334 to 203. The only states Kerry had taken were the three on the West Coast (Washington, Oregon, and California) along with Illinois (Chicago, strong Democratic bastion) and Minnesota in the Midwest, the Northeast (Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Connecticut) and a piece of the Mid-Atlantic States (New York, New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland). I took the South, the Rockies, almost everything in the center of the country, and a big chunk of the Rust Belt. I lost Maryland, but favorite son or not, I hadn't expected to win it anyway.
By 10:00, as the Rockies began reporting their results, the projections had me winning. They refused to call it until the West Coast polls closed, but it was a mathematical lock by then. John Kerry called me about 11:15, just a few minutes after the networks called it for me. He congratulated me for winning and I congratulated him on a hard fought and clean campaign. We kissed over the phone and promised to work together and make sweet, sweet political love on a bed of roses. Blah blah blah! Kerry had run a relatively clean campaign, as had I; if I ever saw John Edwards I would drop kick him into a greasy dumpster and weld the lid down!
Some of the pundits were calling it a mandate, but that can be a very slippery slope for a politician. The most dangerous thing a politician can believe is his own press clippings.
Any relief I had was short-lived. The following morning I got the results of the DNA test. I was a father again, thirty years after the fact. I showed Marilyn the results and we both shook our heads in disgust and disbelief. How I was going to explain this one to her parents was beyond me!
The election results were almost drowned out by Angelo DeSantos crowing the results of the DNA test on national television. By now he was playing the sympathy card, how being an absentee father had left my son without the support and guidance needed to make him a success. This was somewhat muted when the New York Police Department picked up Michael Petrelli with a bunch of his buddies while tearing up a bar in celebration of his soon to be billions in wealth. Petrelli was a moron.
I met with my lawyers and decided to put this all behind us. I would make an offer to buy out any claims from this clown and get him to shut up. Needless to say, DeSantos publicized this as my 'surrender.' What a putz! I agreed to a meeting the Monday before Thanksgiving in Washington. DeSantos wanted it in New York, and televised. We laughed that off and said if he wanted to see a payday while he was still young enough to enjoy it, to be at the Hay-Adams at 10:00 AM on November 22, and to have his client with him, or there was no deal.
I met with my staff briefly that morning, but simply to make sure the world hadn't blown up overnight. At 9:45 I left the White House and went with the zoo over to the Hay-Adams, where we had a conference room booked. We entered the room at 9:55 to learn that DeSantos was still coming down with Petrelli; they wanted to be the last to arrive. I looked at the others and just rolled my eyes.
Angelo DeSantos came into the room first, looking oily and smarmy. He reminded me of a used car salesman. He looked like the kind of lawyer who chased ambulances, pleaded out mobster wannabes, and made bad deals with insurance companies. He was wearing a shiny suit, had some garish jewelry on his fingers, and his hair was oily and slicked back.
Michael Petrelli came in after DeSantos. He was in a suit, probably the only one he owned, and had a blank look on his face. If he were to pass you in the street, you would never even notice his passing. This was a guy who had lucked into the biggest payday he could ever dream about, and was otherwise completely clueless.
I had with me three lawyers, Tucker Potsdam, my long time lead attorney and tax lawyer, John Weisenholtz, the White House Counsel, and David Boies, who I had retained to handle this disaster if it ever went anywhere near a courtroom. I had used him before, and he was one of the finest legal minds, inside or outside of a courtroom, in America. I also had a couple of Secret Service agents standing post inside the room.
Tucker directed DeSantos and Petrelli to seats on the opposite side of the conference table. DeSantos tried to come around the table to shake my hand, but was blocked by Tucker and pointed back towards his seat. He looked at me and said, "We are just trying to be civil, Mister Buckman."
I looked him in the eye and said, "Sit down, Mister DeSantos." Once he was seated, I added, "We all know why we are here. You have ten minutes. What do you want?"
"There is no reason for hostility!"
"Time's a'wasting, Mister DeSantos. Nine minutes fifty seconds.", I answered.
He blustered for a moment, but a tap on my Rolex and a "Tick tock!" from me got him on track. He took longer than ten minutes, but it didn't matter. He was looking for a stupendous payoff, multiple billions of dollars worth. Petrelli sat next to him quietly, but he had an eager look on his stupid face, and was nodding along, like this was something that DeSantos had promised him, and now it was really going to happen. There really was a Santa Claus, and he was coming in November!
He kept rambling until I held up my hand and said, "Stop. Time's up." He wanted to keep going, but I simply said, "You've had your chance, Mr. DeSantos. Now it's my turn."
I glanced at the others, on my side for a second, and they had looks of incredulity on their faces. I shrugged and gave Boies a wry look and shook my head. Then, before DeSantos could start up again, I looked directly at Petrelli, and said, "I have no idea what this shyster has promised you, but let me tell you what is really going to happen."
DeSantos jumped up and began to protest being called a shyster. I looked at him and bellowed, "SIT DOWN AND BE QUIET OR THE NEXT THING YOU KNOW THESE TWO SECRET SERVICE AGENTS WILL BE DRAGGING YOU OUT OF HERE IN HANDCUFFS!"
"You can't..."
I motioned towards the agents and they moved up behind him. Suddenly DeSantos shut up. I held my hand up and they moved back. I began to speak again. "This is Mister David Boies. He is one of the finest trial lawyers in the country. He argues cases in front of the Supreme Court. Mister DeSantos here is not fit to shine his shoes on the courthouse steps! I am going to let Mr. Boies speak for a moment."
Boies popped right up at that. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of legal papers. He handed one of them to Petrelli. "This is a Federal injunction barring you from bringing suit against the President as long as he is in office. As of November 3rd, that will be January 20, 2009." Privately, Boies and Weisenholtz had told me that this was bogus. Jones v. Clinton had ruled that the President could be sued by private parties for acts committed before he was the President. We didn't care; this was just the opening salvo anyway.
He handed over another document. "This is a Federal cease and desist order, barring both you and your lawyer from discussing this case in the press. You say word one and you can fight this from behind bars." Another document. "This is a Federal warrant to seize any and all records and documents of one Jeana Colosimo, and to sequester them with the Federal court until their authenticity is verified. Until that time they may not be sold or published. That means you turn over your mother's diaries to a Federal Marshal. We have one waiting downstairs, and he will accompany you to New York and take possession of any such diaries."