Carolyn flushed under his praise. It surprised her that he cared enough to include her accomplishments in what was clearly his show.

Carolyn watched Warner in a conversation with Nick and savored a glimpse of the man in whom she’d seen so much promise. The man she’d allowed herself to fall in love with; a man who walked the edge of ambition but instinctively kept his balance. His compliments felt good like drops of rain falling on a parched traveler in the middle of the desert. She slammed the brakes on her train of thought. Only fools repeat their mistakes, she scolded herself.

The thought of their defeat during his first reelection campaign and his subsequent behavior was the splash of ice water that kept her focused. She couldn’t afford to forget his history of becoming arrogant and self-destructive when he was on top. Warner’s volatile pattern had been established.

Warner caught up with Carolyn as everyone walked out of the meeting. “I know things have been strained between us lately, but I believe this is our year,” he said. “I’ve given up my bad habits. I’m committed to this, to us. You’re my partner, my teammate. Together we’re indestructible. Shit, our entire lives have been about this goal, and I haven’t lost focus. Together, we’ll make it happen.”

Carolyn wrinkled her nose, his breath projected the bitter smell of alcohol thinly disguised by breath mints. The reminder destroyed the warmth of her earlier thoughts. He’d given up his bad habits? Right, she thought, sadness welling within her. She knew he could be a great man – a man capable of changing history. But he was squandering his talents with self-destructive behavior.

She shook her head, spun on her heel and walked away. It hurt to love a man beyond his faults, and to know that it wasn’t enough. Nothing she did or said could protect him from himself Her challenge lay in damage control. But could she hold him together though this campaign?

They attacked New Hampshire, and the resultant campaign drew copious amounts of blood. Martin Gaston targeted Warner with precision, slicing into his voting record on the hill.

Struggling to stay in the hunt for the White House, Senator Dave Taylor fought for press coverage by spraying the other candidates with a shotgun of issues.

Regardless of the barrage of attacks fired over the helm of the Lane campaign, Warner remained the most charismatic of the candidates. His speeches flowed eloquently, and he charmed the television cameras. News crews clamored for interviews and photo shots of the candidate.

The polls showed that the voters weren’t listening to the negative campaigning strategies of the other candidates. Warner was the clear front-runner.

His message was simple: he was one of them. A hometown boy who was going to take on Washington and change the way government was inn. Warner Lane cared for the people. His motto became “People before business.” The crowds devoured it.

Warner finished a speech at a high school gymnasium in Concord late one evening. The crowd surged to a standing ovation, and he was flying on their energy and enthusiasm as he walked out into the crowd to shake hands.

Matt Carson caught up with him and pulled him aside.

“We’ve got a problem.” Matt whispered. “Our motto. ‘People Before Business.’ is about to be crammed down our throats.”

Warner stopped walking. “What do you mean?”

“The tabloids are releasing a story claiming you own a company that’s using children, in sweatshops, in Haiti to manufacture goods. Tell me this isn’t true.”

Warner stepped back. “Son of a bitch!”

“I take it these accusations are true.”

“No.” Warner shot back. ‘They’re not true. Those are Edmund’s holdings. They have nothing to do with me.“ He felt queasy.

“Well, unfortunately, your father’s business just became our business. This is bad, really bad. When this is released, you’re going to look like a hypocrite. ‘People Before Business.’ will be a national joke.”

This can’t happen now! I’ve come so far. “I don’t need to hear how bad it is, that’s apparent. Tell me how to fix it.” Warner ran his fingers though his graying hair. I’ve got to call Edmund. This was so typical. Edmund had perfected the art of screwing up his life. He’d like to choke the old man with his bare hands.

“We’re working on it.”

“How’s Carolyn taking this?”

“She’s upset, but handling it.”

“Good, good.” Warner said. He’d been afraid that something like this might happen. Edmund didn’t care whom he devastated. This, however, was different. Edmund had a vested interest in Warner attaining the White House.

Oh God! Warner thought again of Carolyn. What if this pushed her beyond her capacity to understand? The thought of children being used in sweatshops would infuriate her.

She’d known that her own agenda could be jeopardized by this family affiliation. If she thought he was finished, it would benefit her to distance herself from the Lane name. They both knew that she could be wounded and still salvage a lesser political career for herself. Fear rose like bile in his throat, the taste caustic. He drew a deep breath, steadying himself and collecting his thoughts.

Minor setback, he reassured himself as they headed for the cars. Matt handed Warner the newspaper article

Lane Abuses Children in Sweatshops

WASHINGTON, D.C. – Senator Warner Hamilton Lane, presidential hopeful, whose motto is “People Before Business,” owns a garment company in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, using child labor in sweatshops. Humanitarian activists are calling him a hypocrite whose motto should be, “the bottom line on the backs of children.”

Many are asking for an investigation into Senator Lane ’s business affairs. Currently, he is ahead in the polls in the race for the party nomination. But will these charges end his hunt for the White House? Insiders tell us that this will destroy his chances.

Damn it. Warner thought, they’d slaughtered him like a hog at a rib roast. Could they control the damage? Fortunately, the story broke in a tabloid. They could exploit that aspect and slam the credibility of the rag. The Council employed the resources to manage such situations. Control was key, and they possessed the control, he reassured himself.

Once they arrived at the hotel. Warner hurried to his room and dialed Edmund.

Warner ground his teeth at the reference. The cruel pettiness of the man would never change. “We’ve got a fire here, A big – fucking – fire, and it’s yours.”

“I’m on it already, son. Consider it taken care of.”

“‘Consider it taken care of? Are you out of your mind? This is a mess.”

“Lower your voice. You’ll never amount to anything if you continue to let your emotions get in the way. You’re acting like a woman. Find your balls, and act like a Lane. I don’t give a shit whether or not it’s in your blood. You’re wearing my name, and I expect you to act like a man.”

The desire to pull the phone out of the wall overwhelmed Warner. His knuckles turned white as he slipped the receiver. He swallowed hard, craving a drink. Don’t do anything rash, he told himself. You need this bastard and the Council. Relax.

Edmund must have taken his silence for submission and continued. “Here’s what I want you to do. First, release a statement to the press that you are not, in any way, connected to my businesses. Then, speak out against it personally, act outraged. Directly address the plight of these people who are abused in sweatshops – say you’re glad this came up, for it’s a great opportunity to help raise awareness of these horrible situations, etcetera, etcetera. You know the routine. Oh, and have Carolyn demand that these charges be investigated. Her sincerity will carry it off.”