“The same thing as always: security.” He reached over and picked up a large manila envelope from the floor. “Family records are precious,” he said. “You of all people should know that. What if there was a fire? You could lose everything: baby pictures, birth certificates—everything. The smart thing to do is to make copies.” He tossed the envelope; it landed beside her on the bed.

She opened the envelope and took out the copies.

“Convenient place, a library—it has a copier and everything. You can do whatever you want with those. I’ve got plenty more.”

She tossed the envelope aside. “Okay, you know. Now what?”

“Beulah,” he said with a grin. “It didn’t grab me at first, but it kind of grows on you. I can see it embroidered on a bowling shirt, or maybe tattooed on some auto mechanic’s forearm.”

“What do you want, Chris?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Just what I asked for before: a job with a salary, that’s all. And—”

“And what?”

“I think I deserve benefits too, don’t you? That’s what I want: a salary plus benefits.”

“What kind of benefits?”

“The personal kind. The kind I had before.”

“Chris—”

“That’s not asking so much, is it? I mean, it’s not like I’m asking for something new—they were voluntary benefits a couple of years ago. That’s all I want, Vic: my old job back. You give me a salary plus benefits, and I give you security. You’ll never have to worry about the rest of those copies and where they might turn up.”

She stared at him for a long time before she finally said, “No.”

“No?”

“Do whatever you want with them. Sell them to the Post or the Times—I don’t care.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“I can survive this. Think it over, Chris—this isn’t about me, it’s about something that happened to me when I was just a kid. It makes me look better, not worse: Look how I started out—look at the adversity I’ve had to overcome—that’s the way we’ll spin it. Show everybody the copies if you want to; you’ll be doing me a favor. Hey, I might even show them myself.”

“And what will John Boy think?”

She hesitated for just an instant. “He’ll get over it. He’ll have to. He needs me to reach the White House; he’ll never do it without me.”

“But think of the humiliation,” Riddick said. “Beautiful Victoria Braden is really Beulah what’s-her-name. I didn’t catch the last name, did you? Oh, that’s right—you don’t really have one. Momma isn’t sure who Daddy was.”

“It’s Braden,” she said. “That’s the only name I need.”