‘Virgil! Get your heathen butt home, your son’s on the way!’

‘Aww shit, Quenton, give me two more minutes.’

‘Now boy!’

‘Sumbitch!’ Virgil climbs out from beneath the stripper, squeezes an exposed breast, whispers, ‘Call you later, baby,’ then follows Quenton into the parking lot.

Boca Raton, Florida 2:13 a.m.

The parking lot is quiet, the National Guard having cleared the hospital and its grounds. Only authorized personnel are allowed entry, no one permitted on the third-floor maternity ward without President Chaney’s personal approval.

Dominique sits up in bed, gazing through heavy lids at her new family. Edith beams like a proud grandmother as she coddles the dark-haired twin. Ennis Chaney sits back in an easy chair holding the fair-haired infant, the gruffness gone from the old man’s weathered face.

Rabbi Steinberg sits on the edge of Dominique’s bed, taking everything in. ‘So? Have you decided on names? You know, it’s Jewish custom to use the first initial of a deceased loved one to honor the dead.’

‘I’m going to name the dark-haired twin Immanuel, after Isadore.’

Edie looks up, the mention of her late husband, causing her eyes to moisten. ‘Your father would be honored.’

‘We’ll call him Manny for short. He has Hispanic blood running through him, you can see it in his eyes.’

‘And what about this blue-eyed fellow,’ Chaney asks. ‘How about an ‘M’ name, after the father?’

‘The father’s not dead!’ Dominique blurts out the words, the unexpected burst of anger exploding from her mouth.

‘Doll, take it easy.’ Edie hands Immanuel to the rabbi, then takes Dominique’s hand.

‘Sorry … I’m just tired. It’s been a long night, a long pregnancy.’

‘It’s okay.’

Dominique looks at the infant sleeping in the crook of Chaney’s arm. ‘Mick’s father, his name was Julius. I thought I’d name the baby Jacob.’

The rabbi smiles his approval. ‘A wonderful choice. Jacob is Hebrew for “he will prevent.”’

‘I also want Mick’s last name. Rabbi, can you marry us in absentia?’

Steinberg nods. ‘I think we can do that. Dominique Gabriel it is.’

‘And Ennis, I’d like you to be the boys’ godfather.’

‘An old fart like me?’ He smiles. ‘Be my honor. Now you listen,’ he rasps. ‘I’ve made arrangements to move your family to a private compound on the Gulf Coast, someplace you can live without being under the constant watch of the media. Gated grounds, your own personal chef, housekeepers, and a twenty-four-hour-a-day security team. The twins’ll have private tutors when they get older, and starting today, I’m assigning my own personal bodyguards to your family. You and yours will never want for anything. That was my promise to Mick.’