“I’m sorry. But many people will see you as a power-grabber. Not a lawyer, teacher, globe-trotting ambassador of goodwill, but something of—I’m sorry to say—a political gold-digger.”

“Dan’s polling and focus groups,” O’Connor interrupted, “don’t say that.”

“Of course not,” Addis replied. “People are not going to confront their feelings about such an unprecedented move until they have to. They may even have the decency not to share those thoughts with a focus group moderator. And Dan has an interest—”

He decided not to complete the sentence.

“And your interest?” Margaret asked. “What is it?”

He looked at the portrait of Truman above the fireplace.

“Don’t think I have one,” he said.

Margaret grinned at him.

“That’s an unusual position to have,” she said.

“I’m always willing to help you. The trip to New Orleans—”

“But …” she interrupted.

“I just don’t know about this.”

“That’s fine, Nick. You don’t have to say anything right now.”

“I told Mumfries I would stick around until the election. Then I’m gone.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re going to be supporting—”

“Not at all.”

“Well, I hope I can still ask you to—”

“Of course, you can.”

She let out a long breath.

“I have a question for you,” he said.

She nodded.

“As far as you know, was your father involved in any of the land transactions?”

Addis could feel O’onnor’s gaze. He avoided her eyes.

“Not as far as I knew then. It really was Bob’s deal. Some people came to him. He asked me. I told him it was up to him.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Nick, think about it some more. I’m sure Sam would understand—he wouldn’t be happy, but he would understand—if you had a change of heart and joined us. And thanks for being honest with me.”

“Remember,” he added, “you have the full sympathy of the public right now. Until you declare that you—someone who has never held elected office—want to challenge a sitting President. Then it’s uncharted territory.”

“There is such a thing as too much honesty,” Margaret said with half a laugh.

Addis and O’Connor scattered a flock of pigeons as they headed though the square toward the White House.

“Why does she hate Mumfries so much?” Addis asked.

“You know,” O’Connor answered. “He’s only in it for himself and his bloodsucking pals.”

“Yeah, I know. But there’s something else. The family stuff? The Mumfries and the Masons. What is it?”

O’Connor came to a stop in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue.

“She once told me that they had been at some family function when she was pretty young. He was there, just back from military service. Seems like their families were pushing them together.”

“And?”