Gibson had known Suzanne since they were kids, their lives linked by their fathers’ bond, which ran far deeper than senator and chief of staff. Lombard had been best man at Duke’s wedding, and after his mother’s death, when he was three, Gibson spent more of his holidays with the Lombards than with his own family. Senator Lombard and Duke would often work late into the night and through weekends, and as a result Gibson had his own bedroom down the hall from Suzanne. When Gibson was seven, Duke had to sit him down and explain that three-year-old Suzanne was not his actual sister. Gibson had not taken the news well.

Some of his fondest childhood memories were from the Lombards’ summer house at Pamsrest on the Virginia shore. Summer began each year with the annual Memorial Day party thrown for hundreds of the Lombards’ closest friends, political allies, and their families. There were always scores of kids to play with, and they were allowed to run wild while the grown-ups socialized and networked on the lawn and wide wraparound porch. Gibson would spend the day playing epic games of capture the flag that ranged all over the back of the property. An ice-cream truck made an annual appearance to the delight of the children, who had already pigged out on hamburgers, hot dogs, and potato salad. It was a kid’s paradise, and he’d always looked forward to such events eagerly.

Suzanne spent the parties inside, reading in the large bay windows that dominated the back of the house. From the raised, cushioned banquettes piled high with pillows, she could look out over the property as far as the tree line. It was a waste of a beautiful day, in his opinion. At that age, he much preferred climbing trees to contemplating them. But it was Suzanne’s favorite spot in the house and the first place anyone looked for her. From there she could watch the party and read her ever-present books. If she could sweet-talk her mother into delivering her lunch, she would happily pass the day reading and napping in the sunshine.

While he counted her as a sister, Gibson didn’t “get” Suzanne for the longest time and treated her the way older brothers often treat little sisters—like foreign creatures. She didn’t play football or baseball; she didn’t like playing soldier out back in the woods; she didn’t like any of the games that he liked. So he did the only sensible thing under the circumstances—he ignored her. Not out of spite but simple expedience. They had no shared language.