The Frankenstein Candidate (32 page)

“It’s all right, folks,” shouted Rodrigo. “False alarm…sorry, Mr. Stein, please continue.”

But he could not keep going. People began to scramble for the makeshift exit. They had been unnerved enough by the visible security even before the incident.

Frank motioned to the cameraman focused on him to continue. Just six people remained for the rest of Frank’s address.

Waiting for Bob Zimmerman in the lounge of the Federal Reserve headquarters in DC with Larry, Olivia Allen picked up the last pieces of the courage speech on the GQ channel.

Bob Zimmerman joined the group as soon as John Logan arrived, and he took Olivia, John Logan, Larry Fox, and Charles Palmer, Logan’s economic adviser, to his private office. Quentin Kirby was already waiting inside, seated at one end of a large, oval-shaped, Cuban mahogany conference table. He stood up to shake hands with the invitees. If he was still smarting from his defeat at the hands of John Logan, he did not show it.

Bob Zimmerman got straight to the point.

“The U.S. economy shrunk in the fourth quarter of 2019, as you all know. Early numbers indicate that the first quarter of 2020 could be appreciably worse. We are looking at the possibility of a three percent decline, and that number is not annualized.”

Charles Palmer gasped. He downed the full glass of water in front of him in one gulp.

“So we have a technical recession. That’s not the real bad news. IFG and Sixth National are both technically insolvent. The currency buying we undertook did not stop the carnage. We are now looking at additional carrying losses at these institutions of somewhere around four to five hundred billion each.”

“We just have to let them go, Bob,” Kirby said.

“Is that why we are here?” Larry asked.

“It can’t be a loan,” Bob said. “We need to recapitalize them or let them fall over. Congressional approval is needed. Only a plan backed by the two nominees has any chance of succeeding.”

“Not yet nominees for a week,” Olivia said.

“True, but we can’t wait for a week. We need to act very quickly. Unbeknownst to us, the finance ministers of six large oil producers got together with central bankers of Japan, China, Germany, and Russia last week. They want to re-denominate the global oil trade,” Bob said.

A second glass of water was skulled, and Charles Palmer almost choked. No one noticed.

“You mean in currencies other than the U.S. dollar?” It was Logan asking the obvious, nervously seeking reassurance.

“Unfortunately, yes. It will take effect sometime in August. The U.S. dollar will have a 20 percent weighting in the basket of currencies used to price oil.”

“So will the U.S. dollar slide even further?” Larry queried.

“Slide would be the good scenario. Another sharp devaluation of 30 to 40 percent is the likely one. The really bad scenario is a collapse.” Bob Zimmerman cleared his throat. “The Japanese and the Russians have told us they will let go of their dollar currency reserves, all of them. We are looking at doubling, maybe even a trebling of prices by year’s end. A highly likely scenario of depression will follow if we seek to control the price rise.”

“What about unemployment numbers?” Olivia said.

“In a shrinking economy, we are looking at 30 percent, and that’s if we save IFG and Sixth National. Otherwise, the depression will worsen and we will be staring at 40 percent unemployment—”

“Forty is ludicrous. We didn’t have forty in the Great Depression,” Larry said.

“Well, some of my more pessimistic staff are calling it the Greater Depression.”

By now, Palmer was white as a ghost, and he finally spoke. “What about the debt that is due this year…two trillion in notes and bonds, how do you roll it over?”

“We don’t,” Zimmerman replied.

“America will not default on its sovereign debt!” Kirby screamed. “Not on my watch.”

“Not technically. We are already in the process of rapid monetary expansion.”

“Two trillion?” Palmer was barely coherent.

“We have done a few hundred billion already. Seven.”

“I don’t think you actually mean printing money to repay creditors like Japan and Saudi Arabia. This isn’t a banana republic.” Larry was incredulous.

“I am sorry, Mr. Fox, there is no alternative. None at all, I’m afraid.”

“We need to speak urgently with the Japanese and Russian heads of state,” Logan said.

“All of that has been tried,” a grim Zimmerman replied. “They say they have no choice…the OPEC nations have laid down the new rules.”

“Within six months,” continued Zimmerman, “we could be looking at unemployment rising above 30 percent and gas at ten, maybe eleven dollars a gallon at the station.”

“But full employment and stable prices are the Fed’s twin objectives,” Olivia said.

“We are helpless against international forces, Miss Allen.”

By the time the meeting finished, an astonished Olivia got in the same car as the equally nonplussed Larry. She asked him to urgently organize a get-together with the business chiefs.

“What do you want to do with them?”

“As many company presidents as you can cram into one room in Manhattan from the S&P top twenty. As soon as possible…and book us for New York on the chartered jet tonight. Please. Just do it.”

“Olivia, we can’t—”

“I know what we can’t reveal, Larry. I just want their perspective on employment and business.”

“What about your acceptance speech? Are you happy with it?”

“Tell them to tear it up and start all over again. At least we should be the first to tell the world.”

She had learned the game fast
, he thought,
her confidence was multiplying.

Oblivious of the security personnel assigned to her, Olivia swung into a cab to rush back home. Security followed her. Gary wanted to see her urgently, and she had been putting him off till the Zimmerman meeting.

She was rushing across the front lawn when her phone rang. The caller ID said Victor Howell. She switched it off.

“Did you know there was a shooting incident in the city today?” Gary said casually as she walked in.

“I picked it up in the news. Just one bullet…no one was hurt. Strange things are happening these days. The country is in a bad state, Gary.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Gary was brewing some for himself.

“Yes, stronger than usual. I need it.”

It was still midmorning, but he could tell she was already weary. He wondered whether it was the right time to tell her. They sat down together on the couch side by side, his hand on hers.

“I was in Roberto’s café this morning.”

“Oh, my God. After or before the shooting?”

“During.”

“Gary!” She hugged him, speechless.

“You are good at this.”

“What? Good at what?”

“Well, politicians have to be good actors.”

“Watch it. I am still trying to forgive you.”

“The shooter was a hit man. Did you know who was paying him?”

“Why would I? I am a public servant…I…did you…did you meet her there?”

“It was meant to lure the shooter.”

“Gary, oh Gary, I love you…please….I love you.”

“Your marriage is still perfect, as far the media are aware. Go on, get elected, and then we can discuss our future. “

“No no no…Gary, I had nothing to do with any hit man.” She tried to kiss him, but he spun his head away so she went on.

“Listen, whatever happens between us, I will get to the bottom of it. Tell me…tell me everything. If you must leave, leave. But don’t see that woman till we track this man down and put him away. I will use all my connections. I will find him, I will—”

“I have already.”

“Who is he?”

“Just how well do you know Victor Howell?” Gary was staring straight into her eyes. They were shocked. The eyes always betray the soul.

She retreated into her mind even as her hand continued to hold and squeeze his. Teary-eyed, she said nothing as her mind raced down an internal labyrinth of facts, evidence, and theory. The name Gary uttered said it all—it was a theory that fitted the facts, the only one. The penny dropped on Olivia and Gary at the same time. She was their puppet. They wanted her, or rather a picture-perfect image of her, to present to the audience. It was a show. She was the actress cast for the lead, and the role was not hers to refuse or rewrite. Woe unto those who would dare soil the most marketable entity.

As Gary’s mind cleared, guilt and joy tore into him, each wanting the prime position. He didn’t mind either. He knew at once that she had always loved him true and always would. He of the doubting mind and infidelity deserved guilt.

Olivia’s mild confusion quickly turned into a paroxysm of rage. Letting his hand go, she tore out of the house like a woman possessed. He didn’t try to stop her; Mother Guilt had to take her share before undiluted joy was allowed back into his mind.

Victor, she found out, was having surgery at a local hospital. He would be able to see visitors in the evening, they said. She needed something to calm her down, to hold her together till evening came.

She drove unannounced to George Mason University to find Dr. Rohan Joshy. Larry was screaming at her on the car phone to get security in the car to go with her.

“I can’t, Larry. I can’t tell you where I am, but I won’t be long—”