“I’m officially announcing my candidacy for President of the United States,” Corrinne Powers said.
The Today show’s hosts and the audience gave the Democratic senator a standing ovation.
Corrinne smiled and mouthed Thank you. She certainly looked the part of the next POTUS. She was in her mid-fifties but looked thirty-five. She’d won the genetic lottery with her symmetrical face and fit body. She’d also managed to slow the aging process with the best cosmetic supplements and surgeries money could buy. She’d managed the impossible—an experienced, smart, and beautiful female politician. Despite widespread wokeness, beautiful women were still afforded special status and influence in society.
Naomi sat on the couch in her office, watching the Today show with Vernon Hayes, her chief of staff, and Katherine Lively, her campaign manager.
“I’ve seen enough.” Naomi turned off the OLED television, the ultrathin screen becoming transparent, revealing the wall-mounted mirror behind. Naomi placed the remote on the coffee table and said, “If I didn’t know better, I might vote for her. We should’ve announced before her.”
Vernon leaned back in his chair. “We did the right thing. Let her have the spotlight now. We’ll announce after her buzz has died down.”
“The sooner we announce, the sooner we’ll start receiving campaign donations,” Katherine said, sitting in the chair next to Vernon. Katherine was fifty years old, tall, blonde, and fit, with a face pulled tight as a drum. “Funding is a serious issue. Financially, we’re nowhere close to where we need to be for a presidential campaign.”
Naomi sighed. “If we don’t have enough money, we can’t win, but we can’t get the campaign donations unless the public thinks we can win.”
Vernon chuckled, his gaze on Naomi. “We have a chicken-and-egg problem. We have to get the public to believe in you, without spending much money.”
“Any ideas on how to do that?”
“We have to take some chances. We have to get your face on the news and on the internet. You can’t walk the line, like a politician. You have to be up-front with the public. Don’t sugarcoat socialism. Don’t shy away from your convictions. People will follow just about any idea if the leader is certain.”
“I agree,” Katherine said. “We have to be aggressive to win, but we also have to be careful not to lose the moderate Democrats. Even if we run a grassroots campaign, we’ll still need money. Much more money than we have now.”
Naomi sighed and stood from the couch. “We’ll find the money.”
Vernon and Katherine stood from their chairs.
“Thank you, Katherine. Vernon, would you stay for a minute?”
Katherine smiled, turned on her heels, and left the office.
“I know what you’re gonna ask,” Vernon said with a crooked grin. “I already have my guy checking out Corrinne. I doubt we’ll find anything though. If she had skeletons, they’d have been unearthed a long time ago.”
“Nobody’s that perfect.”
“We’ll find out.” Vernon walked to the door. Before he reached his destination, someone knocked. He opened the door to find Katherine.
“We received a phone call from Jacob Roth’s office.” Katherine stepped into the room, and Vernon shut the door behind her.
Naomi approached them. “Did you say, Jacob Roth?”
“Yes,” Katherine replied. “He wants to meet with you.”
“The CEO of Housing Trust?”
“Yes.”
“And heir to the Roth banking dynasty,” Vernon said.
13
Derek and the Picker
It had been a week since his mother had collapsed on the kitchen floor. He’d spent most of the week at the hospital, unsure if each day might be her last. Then, over the weekend, she had improved. She wasn’t out of the woods, but he had felt comfortable leaving her at the hospital to finish the all-important late-season orange harvest.
Without the harvest, they’d lose the farm, and, if the cancer didn’t kill her, losing the farm certainly would. Derek had calculated that, if he ran the picker twelve hours per day through Thursday, he’d be ready for the farmers’ market on Friday.
For the first few hours of the morning, the picker had run flawlessly. Ricky and Carlos had worked behind the machine, gleaning whatever oranges Derek and the machine had left. Then it shut down. Derek figured it was overheating like usual, so he waited a few minutes and tried to restart the machine, but it wouldn’t start.
Ricky and Carlos approached.
“Did it overheat again?” Ricky asked.
“I think so.” Derek let out a breath. “I’m gonna take a break and come back. You guys want somethin’ to drink?”
The boys walked with Derek to the farmhouse. Along the way they passed one of the ponds and the apiary. The ponds were used to gravity irrigate the trees, using the swale system to spread the water evenly. The apiary consisted of twenty-five beehives underneath an open-air structure that measured fifty by ten.
The structure had wooden posts and a composite roof. The north and east sides of the structure were covered in lattice to stop the strong northerly and easterly winds. Derek understood that the bees were sensitive to changes in humidity and temperature, so keeping the rain, sun, and wind off the hives made for healthier, more productive bees.
“How come you got so many bees?” Carlos asked.
“They help with pollination,” Derek said.
“What’s that?” Ricky asked.
“It’s like when flowers do it,” Carlos said with a smirk.
Derek shook his head and herded the boys from the bees’ flight paths. “Not too close. I don’t want you to get stung.” Inside the farmhouse, Derek sat the boys at the kitchen table and opened the refrigerator. “We have orange juice, apple juice, water.” He picked up the milk carton and checked the expiration date. “Sorry, milk’s bad.”
“Apple juice,” Carlos and Ricky said, one after the other.
“I’m tired of oranges,” Ricky said.
“Me too,” Derek said, dumping the spoiled milk into the sink.
Derek poured three glasses of apple juice and sat at the table with the boys. They both looked dirty, their clothes and shoes worn and holey. Carlos had a dark tan, his teeth caked with a yellow film. Ricky was red from the sun and skinny as a beanpole, but at least his teeth were white.
“Where’d you go last week?” Carlos asked.
“My mom got sick,” Derek replied.
“Is she okay?” Ricky asked.
“She should be fine. Thanks, Ricky.” Derek finished his apple juice and stood from the table. “Wait here. Get some more juice if you want.”
“Can we have something to eat too?” Carlos asked.
“How about a sandwich?”
“Peanut butter and jelly?” Ricky asked, a grin on his freckled face.
“We could do that.” Derek grabbed two plates, bread, a butter knife, peanut butter, and jelly. “Wash your hands. You can fix your own sandwiches. I’ll be right back.”
Derek left the boys in the kitchen and went to Lindsey’s room. He found some old clothes that could pass for boy’s clothes. In the bathroom, he found a new toothbrush and toothpaste that he’d bought for Lindsey a month ago. He returned to the kitchen where the boys enjoyed their sandwiches. Derek set the clothes on the table.
“I was gonna throw away these clothes,” Derek said. “I thought they might make good work gear, so you two don’t ruin your good clothes.”
Carlos laughed. “We don’t have any good clothes.”
Derek grabbed a cloth grocery bag from under the sink and placed the clothes inside the bag. “Take this with you when you go home.”
“Thanks, Derek,” Ricky said.
After the boys ate their sandwiches, Derek cleaned their plates and dried his hands. “Carlos, can I show you somethin’ real quick?”
Carlos narrowed his eyes at Derek. “What?”
“I have somethin’ for you.” Derek addre
ssed Ricky. “Would you mind waitin’ here for a minute, Ricky?”
“Okay,” Ricky replied.
Derek led Carlos into the bathroom. He removed the toothbrush and toothpaste from his pocket. “You have a toothbrush at home?”
“Yeah.”
“If you don’t brush your teeth at least twice a day, your teeth will rot out of your mouth. I’m assumin’ your family doesn’t have the money to pay for implants.”
“What are implants?”
“They’re fake teeth. When your teeth rot, you get these awful toothaches.” Derek handed the toothbrush and toothpaste to Carlos. “Trust me. You don’t want that.”
Carlos tentatively took the toothbrush and toothpaste. He looked down. “I don’t know how.”
“To brush your teeth?”
The boy nodded.
“That’s no problem. I’ll show you. I taught my daughter, Lindsey. She was about your age.” That was a lie. She was much younger.
Derek showed the boy how much toothpaste to use, how to brush in a circular motion, and how to brush the front, back, and tops of his teeth. Carlos brushed his teeth, heeding Derek’s instructions. When Carlos finished, the yellow was gone, revealing his pearly whites underneath.
“That stuff tastes terrible,” Carlos said, spitting in the sink.
“Come on,” Derek replied. “Let’s go finish our work.”
Derek and the boys went back to the orchard and the picker. Unfortunately, it still wouldn’t start, and the computer screen was still blank. “Piece of shit.” Derek said, pushing the Start button over and over again to no avail. He retrieved his phone and called the mechanic.
* * *
Two hours later, the mechanic looked at the motherboard, while Derek and the boys waited for the assessment. “It’s fried,” the mechanic said. “You’ll need a total replacement of the computer. And this thing still needs refurbishment.”
“How much will it be to just fix the computer and get me runnin’ again?” Derek asked.
“About 3,000 Fed Coins.”
“All right. Can you do it today?”
“It’s a really old machine. I’ll have to order the part.”
“I need it today.”
The mechanic sucked air through his teeth. “Prob’ly comin’ from China. Might take a week.”
“If I don’t get this thing runnin’ within the next day, I might as well drive it off a cliff.”
“I can check the used market, but I rarely see parts for this picker.”
“See what you can find.”
The mechanic tapped on his phone. “I have an app that acts as a search engine for farm equipment. If this motherboard’s out there, I’ll find it.” A few minutes later, he said, “Nearest motherboard for this unit is in China. If we put an airmail rush, it’ll be here Friday.”
Derek hung his head and rubbed his temples. “That’ll be too late.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
Derek nodded. “Thanks for checkin’.”
“You want me to order the part?”
“Don’t bother. I’m gonna pick by hand.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
“I will.”
The mechanic walked toward his truck.
Derek looked down the endless row of beautiful oranges. He sighed, then headed toward the barn.
“Where are you going?” Carlos asked, hustling after him.
“To get the tractor.”
“We can help.”
Derek stopped in his tracks and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I appreciate that but—”
“For real. Just tell us what to do.”
“One of you, grab a box from the picker and fill it with good oranges off the ground. If you wanna keep the damaged ones, that’s fine, but don’t mix ’em.”
Ricky nodded and ran back to the picker.
“Carlos, grab a box too. Pick what you can reach off the low branches.”
Carlos nodded and ran after Ricky.
Derek hooked up a trailer to the tractor and put an orchard ladder in back. He put on an apron with sturdy straps and a large front pouch. He drove the tractor to the orange grove, stopping where the picker had broken down. Derek and the boys moved the boxes of oranges picked by the machine to the trailer. Then Derek set up the orchard ladder under an orange tree.
He climbed the ladder, picked a ripe orange, and dropped it into his apron pouch. The boys picked up oranges from the ground and the low branches of the trees. Derek thought about the ten-man team of pickers that his machine had replaced. As he picked, he calculated the cost and the possibility of hiring temporary help.
First of all, it was near impossible to find people willing to do this type of work. Second of all, even if he could find experienced pickers, he couldn’t afford to hire them, not with the picker repairs and his mother’s medical bills looming.
14
Jacob Meets Naomi
“That’ll be all, Zoe,” Jacob said to his young receptionist, who had served the coffee and was now loitering by the door.
Zoe nodded and left Jacob’s office, shutting the door behind her.
Jacob sat at his desk across from Congresswoman Naomi Sutton. She sipped her steaming cup of coffee, then set it on the coaster. Her earlobes stretched under the weight of her gold hoop earrings.
“Like I was saying, we have a lot in common. You obviously support the poor with your words and your policies, and, here at Housing Trust, we do the same by providing low-income housing. I really am a big fan of your ideals, and I think you have a real shot at the presidency.”
“I’m not running for president,” Naomi said, poker-faced.
“Yet.” Jacob grinned. “I’ve done my homework, and I know you’ll be declaring at some point in the near future.”
“Possibly.”
“You’ll need a lot more money than you currently have.”
“If I run, I’ll fundraise, like every other candidate.”
“Corrinne Powers has a war chest. Let’s be realistic. She has the money and the popularity to not only win the Democratic nomination but also to beat President Warner.”
Naomi pursed her lips. “If you have it all figured out, why am I here?”
Jacob leaned forward. “Because you’re a wonderful wild card. Because, with my family’s money behind you, I believe you can win.”
“If you didn’t think I could win without your money, I wouldn’t be here. I’m sure you’re also backing Corrinne and Warner.”
Jacob went quiet.
Naomi narrowed her eyes at Jacob. “If I wanted your support, what would I have to do in return?”
“I think you’ve misunderstood the situation. You’re free to do as you wish, whether you take our support or not. I can’t control you. Now, we can have a conversation to determine whether or not your potential presidential policies would support or hinder my family’s business. If we have mutual interests, it makes sense to give you ample support.”
“Let’s cut the bullshit. What is it that you want?”
Jacob nodded, his face blank. “Your socialist policies interest me. Are you against capitalist monopolies?”
“Yes.”
“Thorium Unlimited has built quite the energy monopoly. Today they provide one-quarter of all the power in the US, and that’s including transportation fuel. At current trends, by 2060, they’ll provide 40 percent. Would you consider taking action against Thorium Unlimited?”
“If it was in the best interests of the American people, yes.”
“How about a 90 percent tax rate on thorium power generation?”
“If it was in the best interests of the American people.” Naomi leaned back in her chair. “Are you against monopolies, Mr. Roth?”
“I think this is one place where we have mutual interests.”
“Doesn’t the Federal Reserve have a monopoly on money and credit? Should I also apply a 90 percent tax rate on the member banks of the cartel?”
Jacob tensed his jaw for a split second, relaxed, and smiled. “That would be a problem.”
“I imagine it would be.”
“The Federal Reserve has had an uninterrupted charter since 1913. I would assume you’d want that to continue.”
“If it’s in the best interests of the American people.”
“Do you think it’s in the best interests of the American people?”
Naomi snickered. “It’s in the best interests of the member banks.”
“That may be, but it’s also in the best interests of the American people.”
“What if I tell you that I’ll support the Federal Reserve system, and your family helps me win the election, then, when I’m elected, I do the exact opposite of what I promised? What then?”
“We can be very powerful allies, but we can also be very powerful enemies.”
Naomi glared at Jacob. “What does that mean?”
Jacob smiled back. “What do you think it means?”
Naomi stood from her seat. She was short in her flats. “I won’t be bought. I’d rather lose with my integrity intact.” She left the office, leaving the door open in her wake.
Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses. “Shit.” He stood from his desk, walked to his open door, and shut it. He dreaded the call to his father but preferred to rip off the metaphorical Band-Aid. Jacob removed his cell phone from his pocket and tapped the Nathan Roth icon. He paced in his office as the phone rang.
“How did it go?” Nathan asked.
“She’s a problem,” Jacob replied.
“What kind of problem exactly?”
“I think she wants the federal government to control credit and money creation. I doubt she’d have the votes for abolishment, but she might bring unwanted awareness.”
Nathan exhaled heavy. “I should’ve sent Eric.”
15
Summer and Gradualism
Summer touched her flat stomach, thinking of the child growing inside her. It had been two weeks since she found out, but she still hadn’t told Connor. She woke from her daydream to Connor making an impassioned point.
2050: Psycho Island Page 7