“I just did a sit-down with Harper’s Bazaar,” Victoria said. “I went into that interview with two talking points: immigration reform and preschool education for the poor. You know what they wanted to talk about? Whether I was wearing a Zac Posen or a Nina Ricci at the Kennedy Center last week. So I told them all about the gown—the way it’s made, the way it fits, the way the stupid thing rides up on anybody bigger than a size six. I didn’t ‘direct their attention where it belongs,’ Brad, I told them more than they wanted to know—and you know what happened? They changed the subject. The question here isn’t, what do we think is important? The question is, what do they think is important? And if they think what’s important is a little graveyard at the Patriot Center, then believe me—it is.”

Brad looked at the senator for a ruling. So did Victoria—but her look was a little more determined, and her eyes communicated a subtext that her husband couldn’t miss.

The senator paused. “I think we should follow Victoria on this one. She’s got a lot of experience with the media, and I trust her instincts.”

Mrs. Braden flashed her husband a quick wink.

“It’s your call,” Brad said with a shrug of resignation. “I’ll get on the first press release right away.”

“Make sure I see it first,” Victoria said. “Remember—I want a certain editorial slant.”

“You’ve got it—anything else?”

“Yes. I want to pay a visit to Endor.”

Both men looked at her in astonishment.

“Sweetheart, I trust your instincts, but don’t you think that might be going a bit too far? I requested that Mr. Donovan be removed because he was attracting too much publicity—what will happen when your pretty face shows up out there? Talk about a feeding frenzy.”

“The problem with Nathan Donovan wasn’t too much publicity—it was the wrong kind. Think about it, Johnny: Who covers the FBI? Crime scene reporters do. But crime scene reporters don’t cover me— I get the reporters from Lifestyle and Fashion, and isn’t that just the kind of publicity we’re looking for? We don’t want someone asking, ‘How many more bodies might be out there?’ We want them to ask, ‘How big is that mall going to be?’ Besides, I won’t visit the Patriot Center—I’ll visit Endor. It’s my hometown, and it’s right next door— just close enough but not too close.”

Brad turned to her. “What would this visit accomplish, Mrs. Braden?”

“Ask Johnny,” she said. “He understands.”