He said something to the President, and Stockton nodded. She knew what that meant. If Kim wouldn’t call to concede, eventually the President would have to call him.

The two men walked off. And Pryce slipped in behind them.

Stockton made the call from an adjoining room of the suite. His campaign manager Cline, his VP Ben Fuhrman, his Press Secretary Greg Chase, and half a dozen others were watching from an adjoining room. He imagined it was the same on the other side.

Stan Kim’s people kept him waiting, purely as posturing, he was sure. Stockton waited, and waited, and waited.

Then the wall screen suddenly came alive, and Stan Kim was there, in black suit and blue tie, an American Flag pin at his lapel. Not looking the slightest bit fatigued, despite the late hour.

“Senator Kim,” Stockton said.

“Mr President,” Kim replied.

They both knew this was being recorded. That this would ultimately go down in history.

“Senator Kim, our campaign’s numbers, as well as those of every major network and independent analyst, show that I’ve won an overwhelming majority of both the electoral and popular vote. I’m calling to commend you for an excellent race, to tell you that I look forward to working with you in your capacity as the senior Senator from the great state of California over the next four years, and to ask you to publicly concede the race for President. Will you do that, Senator?”

Stan Kim stared back at him. Then the man said the words Stockton had dreaded.

“Mr President, I do not concede. America wants me as its President. My campaign has filed suit in thirty-seven states on behalf of voters who were illegally and unconstitutionally prevented from voting with the benefit of the most up-to-date knowledge about your true character and criminal, perhaps even treasonous, actions. I understand that a number of independent suits have been filed, contesting your fitness for the presidency. I do not concede, Mr President. And on Inauguration Day, I’m fully confident that I’ll be the one entering the White House.”

Stockton kept his face calm. Thirty-seven states? His fitness for the presidency?

He felt his face going hot.

They’re baiting me, he told himself. Ignore it.

“Senator,” he said, his voice under tight control, keeping to the script they’d prepared. “Let’s not tear America apart. I’m sure if we work together, we can find some way…”

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists,” Kim said.

The screen went dead.

“Asshole!” Stockton yelled. His fist crashed into the wall screen.

He went on stage twenty minutes later, after the local anesthetic had time to numb his bruised and maybe broken hand. He wore his biggest grin. The crowd erupted into cheers of “Four more years!”

“Today!” he began, “In the great city of Houston, in the greatest country on Earth!”