Petrelli began to look hopeful again. I still wasn’t done. “Finally, in compensation for the loss of your mother, and the terrible pain of growing up without a father, there will be a lump sum payment of a further $5 million, to ease your suffering. That amounts to $25 million, to be paid out in four payments of $6.25 million a year. After that, I won’t be the President, so whatever embarrassment value you think this has becomes nil. You will agree to never discuss this agreement or the terms of the agreement. If you refuse to turn over all the diaries or violate the terms of the agreement it becomes null and void, and you will be required to pay back any and all payments, plus penalties.”
I nodded to David Boies, and he pulled out another document and slid it across the table. “These are the terms,” he said. “They are nonnegotiable.”
I had argued about buying the bastard off — in every meaning of the word! Maybe I could go along with the $10 mill inheritance package, since it was the same amount my other kids would get. The other $15 was blackmail and nothing more. I’d rather spend twice that to bury him.
Instead I was faced with a solid wall of my lawyers and senior staff, all of whom wanted this thing buried. I met with David Boies privately and he put it bluntly. “Carl, grow up! This guy can keep this going for years. You can make it expensive for him, but you can’t stop it. He can fight this forever, starting one law suit after another, and eventually he will win one. The stays will run out, the court orders will be overruled, the diaries will be unsealed. At some point a court somewhere will rule that the diaries can be published, and that the two of you will get to argue over who gets the proceeds. Do you want your wife and children reading about your sweaty fun and games in the back seat of your father’s car?”
“We never did it in my father’s car!”
“Oh, shut up! Nobody cares! Do you really want to spend the next four years of your Presidency as a late night joke? Who do you want to play you in the TV movie!?”
“Shit!” I muttered.
“Here’s something else to think about. The more you fight this, the more valuable the diaries become. The longer you fight, the more people will want to see what you are fighting about. I had some of my people look into the value of the diaries. Conservative estimate, $30 million, moving on up to $50 million. Like I said, grow up. Make the damn deal!”
So I made the damn deal. I offered $25 mill to a guy who figured $25 kay was a decent year. The papers sat on the table for a moment, and then Petrelli reached out for them. DeSantos’ arm snaked out and he grabbed them first. He began looking them over. “We need some time to review this.”
Boies looked at me and I nodded. He responded, “Twenty-four hours. In the meantime, the Federal Marshal downstairs will accompany you back to New York, where you will turn over the diaries. They will remain in Federal custody until this is resolved.”
DeSantos gave an almost imperceptible nod. It was time to end this. I stood up. “I have wasted far too much of my life messing with this idiocy. Mister Petrelli, I have no idea why your mother never informed us of your parentage. That was her decision, not yours and not mine. What most disappoints me is how anybody with half my genes could act the way you do. You may be my offspring, but you are certainly not my son. I hope to never hear from you again.” I left the lawyers in the room, and took the agents with me. Enough of this!
Chapter 158: The Calm Before The Storm
I wasn’t surprised when DeSantos agreed to the terms, and had Petrelli sign the papers the next day. The marshal returned to Washington with the signed papers and the diaries. The diaries were turned over to the Federal Court while the final paperwork was finished. Eventually the diaries were turned over to me. I went home to Hereford that weekend and left Marilyn in D.C. I never read them. I just grabbed a box of kitchen matches and went up to the helipad and threw the diaries into some old cardboard boxes, doused them with lighter fluid, and set them on fire. It was chilly, but I didn’t really care. I just stood there and watched, occasionally kicking unburned pages back into the fire, until nothing was left. I didn’t think I would ever understand why Jeana had never come forward, but I just didn’t want to read her diaries to try and find out. That just seemed too private and personal. It was so long ago, and so bittersweet.
The press was loathe to let a good scandal alone, though. John Edwards had mostly shut up once it became obvious he was staying in the Senate, and neither Petrelli, DeSantos, nor I were talking. Nature abhors a vacuum, however, so reporters began reporting on the lack of anything to report. It came to a head the first week of December. Brian Williams had just taken over the NBC Nightly News from Tom Brokaw, and had managed to finagle a one-on-one interview with the President as a big and flashy intro. It was big and flashy, all right, but not perhaps in the way he imagined.
We were set up in the Map Room, like on some previous interviews, but it was just me and Williams, without Marilyn or any other members of the family. It was supposed to be a discussion of my plans for a second Buckman administration, both personnel wise and about future legislation.
Williams: “First off, Mister President, congratulations on your victory in the election. Does it feel good to know you won’t have to ever run for office again?”
Me: (Chuckling.) “I think that’s a little premature, Brian. I might not be running for office, but there are certainly going to be plenty of elections coming up where I might be called upon for some influence. If I do my job right, maybe I’ll be able to help a few fellow Republicans.”
Williams: “And if something goes wrong?”
Me: (Smiling.) “Then maybe my fellow Republicans won’t want my help. We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
Williams: “Do you consider the Petrelli scandal one of those things that can go wrong?”
Whoa! Where did that come from!? I was sure it showed on my face, because I stopped smiling or laughing and gave Williams a hard look.
Me: “That’s really not something I intend to discuss, Brian.”
Williams: “Mister President, you must admit that some voters were influenced by the scandal.”
Me: “I wouldn’t agree with that, and I think the final election results speak for themselves.”
Williams: “You have refused to discuss the scandal until now. Why is that?”
Me: “I have no intention of discussing anything of the sort, Brian. I am here to discuss the changes coming in the next four years.”
Williams: “Mister President, why haven’t you discussed what happened, and explained it to the American people? Isn’t it unrealistic to expect it to remain hidden after all these years?”
Me: “Let me put this to rest, then. I think it is painfully obvious that the American public has the ability to differentiate between my performance as the President of the United States and whatever occurred with a couple of teenagers thirty years ago. It was never anything more than a personal issue to the people involved. No laws were broken. There was no scandal and no cover-up. Since then the issue has been resolved and we have all put it behind us and moved on with our lives. There will be no more discussion of it than that.”
Williams: “What about the diaries? Was there a payoff?”
Me: “Move it along, Mister Williams. The topic is getting old.”