Earlier that morning, the campaign had sent out a release announcing Levi’s position regarding raising income taxes for billionaires, a popular topic of conversation since the 99% movement had taken root in San Francisco and there had been riots at UC Berkeley and UC Davis.
JP, it seemed, had decided to come in person for his quote, asking if Levi would agree to tax himself at a higher rate.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Like Warren Buffett, Levi Barnes believes the wealthy have an obligation to pay higher taxes.”
“Yes, but can a billionaire ever really relate to the average American?”
I leaned back in my chair, ready to play press secretary. “It’s not wealth that defines a person, but their actions,” I said. “Levi Barnes wasn’t born into wealth. He acquired it by living the American Dream. He was a university professor who used his education to start companies that created technologies embraced by consumers and the business community. Any entrepreneur can follow in that path.”
I watched as JP furiously scribbled in his pad. I’d grown used to the long silences while reporters tried to capture their dictation. I used to feel compelled to fill the silence with more talking, but I had learned over the years to be patient. I knew Levi has gotten his quote.
“Did you get what you needed?”
JP nodded, as he closed his notebook.
“OK, then if you don’t mind, I have some work to get back to.”
“Wait,” he said, his nervousness reaching a peak. “I was wondering if you had reconsidered having a coffee with me, or maybe dinner. I thought perhaps after Lyon’s party next week.”
“That’s a private event,” I said in my haughtiest voice. “ I don’t recall the media being invited.”
JP laughed. “Wow, that was excellent campaign spokesperson reprimand voice,” he said. “But you’ll have to stand down, because Richard Lyon invited me.”
Not good, I thought to myself. Overconfident FOC—friend of candidate—invites reporter to lavish party in Carmel full of Silicon Valley insiders. I had to wonder who benefitted from that kind of exposure. “If Richard invited you, then we’re done here,” I said. “I assume you’ll keep everything off the record?”
More laughter. “Yeah, right. Now about dinner, do we have a date?”
“OK,” I said, “But let’s keep it light. This is more of a casual meal than a date. Deal?”
“Deal” he said, and collected his notebook and left.
The next few days whirled by. There were plenty of preparations to make and our tax policy release had managed to get Levi a space on Nightline and CNN. I had been swamped with calls from producers seeking Levi for television interviews. Levi was thrilled with the exposure and Gabriel was excited to see the campaign going so smoothly.
Gabriel had managed to keep Elsa and Aidan out of my reach, knowing that I wanted to speak with them about what they had found in their search of the videos and media coverage of the robbery. The minute the party in Carmel was over, I had big plans to install myself at the Council’s offices. Meanwhile, I had simply locked my cell phone in a drawer at home to avoid seeing more of William’s texts.
All of the activity kept me busy, and very quickly I found myself standing in the living room of Richard Lyon’s home, watching the sunset. After all of the buildup and anticipation, I was relieved that the house party was going well. The view from his floor-to-ceiling windows of the Carmel shoreline had never looked more beautiful. Even more glorious, the home was full of Levi’s supporters; the most wealthy and influential families from the region had sent at least one person to attend. The 1950’s ranch-style home was basking in the last rays of the sun and Levi was basking in the acceptance and encouragement of his peers. I was loving the energy buzzing in the room, for these people were truly hopeful that Levi would make a difference, that the government could make a difference. Maybe it was all the wine and sunshine, but the vibe in the room felt right. It felt hopeful. It felt like…victory.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught JP interviewing some of the guests and sighed. In the days that had passed, I’d grown increasingly uncomfortable with Richard’s decision to invite him, and for that matter, my acceptance of his dinner invitation. He was a thorough, competent reporter, but whether he was suitable as anything more remained to be seen. JP was certainly interested in