An unelected political mandarin in a role loosely defined, the deputy assistant was the unofficial head of the White House Office. An office that was, in turn, the beating heart of the presidential staff system. That position alone gave Cunningham a level of influence that could be described as world shaping.

And yet that did not begin to describe Cunningham’s power.

Frequent visitors to the Oval Office had grown used to Cunningham. To his omnipresence, always at Knowles’ right hand. After three years of Knowles’ presidency, it was no longer even questioned. These days, if Cunningham missed a meeting it was a sure sign that the meeting was not important.

Knowles’ reliance on Cunningham was hardly new, although it had definitely increased since he had taken office. In fact, it went back to the very beginning of Knowles’ political career, shortly after his receipt of the Medal of Honor and his honourable discharge from the US Marine Corp.

Back then, Cunningham was already well known as the CEO of the discrete but powerful political lobbyist company Hotspur Futures. Washington DC legend now told how he had seen something in Knowles before anyone else. Something special.

And so, the story went, Cunningham gave up his own ambitions, stepped down from a company that was paying him millions of dollars a year, all to join with a man who he truly believed would make a difference.

That was the legend. And, like most legends, it was not worth the paper on which it was written.

Sure, Cunningham had seen something in Knowles. And that something was electability. The classic handsome war hero, Knowles had the making of a Hollywood president. One who would be swept into the White House on the crest of an effortless wave. A wave which, thanks to Cunningham, had taken the now-deputy assistant and the organisation he really worked for along with it.

It had been a long-term project. One which had required Cunningham to leave Hotspur behind just as he had finally taken the reins at the company.

But then everything the organisation did was long term. And success with them? Success for them? That far outweighed anything he could ever achieve at Hotspur. Or at any of the countless other companies the organisation owned.

Media. Tech. Military. Oil. Aviation. Law. The organisation had interests in them all. Financial stakes that ran into the hundreds of billions. Maybe more. And the best way to protect those investments and ensure that they flourished?

Washington DC. Or, to be more specific, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

What was it the boss used to say? Cunningham thought to himself. You take the White House, you take the world.

With Knowles at his side, that was exactly what Cunningham had done.

‘And just what do you believe the public opinion to be, Nick?’

Knowles’ voice broke through Cunningham’s thoughts, bringing his attention back to the subject of the meeting.

Climate change.

Everyone’s attention was on Nicolas Dupart, a recent addition to the White House staff. Dupart’s skin was deeply tanned, complimenting his sharp, angular features and some premature greying of his black hair. At five foot ten and boasting a body fat ratio in the single figures, he was not dissimilar in size to Cunningham. He was also the heir to one of the world’s great fortunes and easily the richest man in the room, yet somehow he was also the least known; the anonymous billionaire.