Just as Amy had predicted, the ballroom of the Sheridan Hotel was jammed with news reporters and photographers the next Monday morning. Jake saw that all the local TV stations were there, together with the major cable networks. Most of the camera crews and photographers were male, although there was a healthy number of women among the reporters.

Jake was standing off to one side of the stage, beside Tomlinson’s public relations aide, a bespectacled, crew-cut young man dressed in a tweed jacket. He looked young enough to be a freshman. According to Amy, though, he was a top man in the biggest PR firm in the state.

Amy was nowhere in sight as a technician from the hotel fiddled with the microphones up on the lectern. The camera crews were setting up their equipment, kidding around and jostling each other for the best positions up in front of the assembly. She’s with Frank, Jake knew. They’re going over the last-minute details.

The big ballroom was buzzing with dozens of conversations. Somebody cracked a joke and a burst of laughter erupted from the back of the room. Jake felt jittery, his hands sweaty. The room felt hot to him, stuffy. Too many people too close together, he thought.

Alexander Tomlinson was over in the far corner of the room, surrounded by men his own age: his cronies, all smiles and expectations. The elder Tomlinson looked stern and uncompromising, however. I wonder if he ever smiles, Jake asked himself.

“Testing, one, two, three…” The technician’s voice boomed across the room. Looking startled, he ducked down to adjust the audio equipment hidden inside the lectern.

The technician hurried off the stage and the room suddenly fell silent, expectant. After a few moments, the door at Jake’s side of the stage opened and B. Franklin Tomlinson came striding into the room. He bounded up onto the stage, beaming his megawatt smile, looking dashing and youthful even in his conservatively dark blue three-piece suit.

“Good morning,” he said into the microphones. His voice sounded strong, self-assured. “I hope Santa Claus was good to all of you.”

A scattering of chuckles. Jake looked around for Amy. She slipped quietly through the doorway and came to Jake’s side, beaming up at Tomlinson.

“I think you already know why I’ve asked you here this morning,” Tomlinson went on. “I have decided to be a candidate for the United States Senate in November’s election.”

A sort of sigh gusted through the room. The announcement was expected, of course, but now it had actually become a reality. Cameras clicked and whirred, and Jake saw that while most of the reporters were holding up digital recorders to take down Tomlinson’s announcement, a few were actually scribbling on notepads.

“I’ll be running on the Republican Party’s slate, and look forward to engaging the Democrats’ candidate in a meaningful discussion of the issues.”

“What about the primary?” someone asked.