and dined her, gave her everything a woman could want, then married her the day he turned forty-two.
The wedding was so over the top it was televised live all over the world. Women sat glued to their television sets admiring the top model’s flawless beauty, which she said came from La Natural. There were those who said Princess Diana’s wedding was tawdry compared to Amalie Laurent’s.
A year to the day after he and his bride returned from their honeymoon on the island of Mustique, Lincoln got down to the serious business of grooming Gabriel Knight for the presidency of the United States. Two years later, Lincoln Moss announced to the world that he was going to manage Gabriel Knight’s campaign for the highest office in the land. It took four years of steady-as-you-go politicking. He left no stone unturned. He worked tirelessly, campaigning seven days a week and making sure that all photo ops showed Amalie flanked by Gabe and himself. And that’s how Gabriel Knight had sailed into the White House the year before Lincoln Moss turned fifty.
The media stewed and fretted when Lincoln was given no titles, no special perks, and all he would say was that he didn’t want anything other than the President’s friendship. They did notice, however, that Lincoln wore out the carpet leading to the Oval Office with his frequent visits. And they noticed when he sat in on briefings, not that he ever uttered a single word. Anytime a crisis threatened, Lincoln was the first one in the Situation Room. It was also said but not proven that the President and Lincoln had personal cell phones that not even the Secret Service was privy to. Then they started to whisper about Moss’s little black book of secrets, but no one would or could confirm that there was such a book.
In the beginning, Ted Robinson and Maggie Spritzer of the Post very often wrote op-ed pieces and lengthy articles on Lincoln Moss as they tried to figure out if there was something no one was seeing besides themselves. As Maggie said time and again, “He’s got to have something on someone, and I do believe there is a little black book,” with which Ted agreed completely. From time to time, they questioned their own suspicious-reporter instincts and were inclined to give up their quest for a story when they couldn’t come up with anything they felt was newsworthy. So they simply shelved the effort as they waited for a break, or, as Ted put it, a mistake on the part of kingpin Lincoln Moss. It was just a matter of time, he said over and over, because everyone makes a mistake at some point. Ted was rarely, if ever, wrong. And when Maggie Spritzer agreed with him 100 percent, you could take it to the bank.
And so they waited. Not too patiently but patiently enough.
And while they waited, Lincoln Moss went about his business of keeping his image pristine and making sure he made the front page of every newspaper at least once a week for something or other.
Lincoln Moss was a handsome, muscular, fit man. In his palatial home, he had a state-of-the-art gym and his own personal trainer, who lived in one of the cottages at the rear of the ten-thousand-acre estate. His chauffeur lived in another cottage. The day help—his housekeeper and butler, six maids, and the lawn and maintenance people—left the premises at six o’clock sharp every evening and didn’t return until six o’clock the following morning. He was fond of saying to anyone who would listen that he paid out more in salaries in one month than some people made in their lifetime. Maggie Spritzer called it bragging rights. Everyone knew Maggie took no prisoners.
Lincoln Moss was also a snob. But not in public. In public, he was Mister Benevolent, Mister Congeniality himself. Something Maggie Spritzer and Ted Robinson saw through at their first meeting.
While the intrepid reporters were waiting for Moss to make a mistake, he was on his way home in the middle of the day to check on his beautiful wife and possibly have lunch with her in the garden. The bloom was off the rose, as the saying went, and Lincoln was the first to recognize that fact. He didn’t love his beautiful wife. Never had. To him, she was just another possession. But he played the game, and the rules were all his because he was in total control. From time to time, he