by A. C. Fuller
"Maybe so. But how do you know all this?"
At the bottom of the steps, she stops. "I'm pretty good at what I do, Mia. The last piece is what I'm not certain of. But I'll take a stab at it. You want someone like me to report on Mast's transgressions because it will create public pressure on you to kick him out?"
I nod slowly. "That, or possibly the story itself will knock him out of the top ten and he'll quit. If we release the information ourselves, it might look like we're out to get him."
"Are you?" she asks, pointedly.
"I swear, we aren't. He's too far right for my taste, but I'm not a lifelong Democrat like Steph. Honestly, Avery Axum is my favorite. But I would have looked into any candidate the same way. And I'll be doing so once we get this solved. Money is something I should have paid more attention to from the beginning."
She laughs. "You may be the most earnest person in American politics, Mia. It's too cute. But you're smart. I get your story out there, the social media mob will come after him. Pressure will build organically for you to kick him out."
"Or he'll drop out, yes."
She puts out a hand, palm up, and I hand her the file from my briefcase. "It's all there."
"The Times won't take this story. I did that feature for the magazine, but I'll probably post this on Facebook, or maybe Medium. I have a big enough following that it'll spread."
I figured as much. I need Gretchen's name attached to the piece to make it credible, not the name of a publication. "Fine."
"Good, but I need something from you."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't pretend you don't know what I mean. You worked for Alex Vane, and we both know what he's like." I suppress a wince. Story-trading is part of the journalism industry that I've never been totally comfortable with. "I owe the gossip guy at the Post a story," she continues. "I want you to talk to him about your breakup."
"The Washington Post cares about my breakup with Peter?"
"Of course not. The New York Post. Page Six."
"Oh. Will I have to be—"
"On the record? No. Anonymous. You've gotta give him a few quotes from 'A source close to Mia Rhodes' or 'A mutual friend with knowledge of the breakup.'"
It's gross—both the fake attribution and the simple act of talking about the relationship in public. "There's no other way?"
We reach a black Lincoln Town Car with a driver in the front seat. She stops and opens the back door. "Do we have a deal?"
"Ugh! Fine. Text me his number and I'll call. After the Mast story drops."
I've lived through some disappointing Valentine's Days, but I never thought I'd spend one agreeing to talk about my shattered love life with The New York Post.
24
When I created Ameritocracy, I thought February 15th would be a big day. A celebration. It's the last day to register as a candidate, the last day before we enter the home stretch. I thought we'd have a big event, something official to close the registration period and celebrate our journey.
Months ago, Steph and I realized this would likely bring an influx of last-minute candidates, most of whom wouldn't be serious. A lot more work for little reward. So we decided to let the deadline pass quietly and to issue a press release only after it passes.
It's a good thing we didn't plan an event because today I've got bigger issues to deal with. Gretchen Esposito posted her story at six a.m., only minutes before my flight from Washington D.C. to Seattle took off. I didn't even have time to read it. I vaguely remember the days when hopping on a six-hour flight was an escape from the Internet, but this one has wi-fi, and I'm on the clock.
After takeoff, I open my laptop and find the piece.
Troubling Financial Transactions Raise Questions About Robert Mast's Candidacy
By Gretchen Esposito
February 15, 2020
Robert Mast has received over a million dollars from a series of questionable financial transactions that he used to fund his campaign for the Ameritocracy competition. The money came from a number of companies and their executives, violating competition rules and calling the honesty and integrity of the retired general into question.
I scan her summary of his transgressions, looking for quotes. First, I find his denial. "We won't dignify these spurious accusations by responding to them individually. I categorically deny any suggestion of improper contributions."
Right after Mast's quote, I find my quote, one of three I emailed Esposito. She picked my favorite, the one that distances me from the story, while throwing Mast under the bus. "We started Ameritocracy to level the playing field of American democracy. Mr. Mast should have every chance to defend himself and set the record straight, but these transactions, if true, are deeply troubling."
Why not come right out and say we know the allegations to be true? Same reason we didn't want to publish the evidence against Mast on the Ameritocracy website. Where information appears, and who delivers it, is as important as what the information indicates.
If I'd given the story to Alex and Bird, people could have dismissed it—partially because The Barker has a mediocre reputation, but mostly because Alex has been publicly supportive. Gretchen, on the other hand, has been critical of Ameritocracy, so this article plays into that narrative. People are more likely to believe it. And if people believe it, more journalists will jump on the story and more evidence will appear. I hope.
I scan the rest of the article, then check Twitter and Facebook to see if it's getting any traction. To my surprise, it's already blowing up. Many of the top Twitter journalists retweeted the story when Gretchen shared it, and debate is raging.
In another window, I open the Ameritocracy homepage to check our top ten. It's right where I left it before the article came out.
1. Marlon Dixon
2. Robert Mast
3. Justine Hall
4. Tanner Futch
5. Beverly Johnson
6. Maria Ortiz Morales
7. Avery Axum
8. Orin Gottlieb
9. Cecilia Mason
10. Charles Blass
My phone is going nuts—text after text from reporters seeking comment, followed by calls from Steph and more emails than I can process. For the next three hours, I reply to texts and take calls. Though I apply a layer of deniability to my answers—using phrases like "if true" and "deeply troubling"—I do my best to shred Mast's credibility.
By the time the flight attendant hands me my third cup of coffee, I'm ready for a break. Checking the top ten again, I see that Mast has dropped to the number three spot.
A new text arrives, and I check my phone.
Steph: Can you get CNN on the plane? Mast is going live.
Me: What?
Steph: Right now. I think his people can tell this story is getting traction. Turn on the news.
The CNN stream on my laptop is choppy, but it works well enough to make out Robert Mast sitting behind the desk in his office. The shot also captures his bookshelf and part of that Civil War rifle he was so excited about. He—or someone on his staff—added an American flag on either side of him, hanging loosely from silver poles. It all looks very presidential.
After a short delay, Mast's voice comes through my headphones. "…rumors and innuendo. These allegations have hurt me personally, hurt my family, and, I believe, hurt the American people. Let me be absolutely clear. I have never and would never knowingly take donations from anyone attempting to influence my campaign for the presidency of the United States. I have never and would never allow any transactions through my wife's company—a great American small business—nor would I condone any purchases of my book by anyone other than readers interested in my story." He pauses, looking gravely into the camera. "And let me be clear on another point. Even if true, the supposed financial transactions would all be perfectly legal. Even if one hundred percent of the allegations leveled in this trashy post are true, no laws would have been broken."
The statement is tone deaf and ineffective.
From a PR standpoint, if he planned to deny the allegations, he needed to deny them categorically. Instead, he equivocated with the weak "Even if true," which everyone will hear as an admission of guilt. In a political competition based on popularity, he won't be saved by the fact that he didn't break any laws.
When he finishes the statement, he looks straight into the camera. "Now, I'll take questions for as long as it takes to put this behind us."
This surprises me because I didn't know there were reporters in the room. The camera zooms out, revealing the back of a half dozen heads. Hands shoot up as Brenda, Mast's assistant, steps next to the desk to moderate the questions. She calls on a bearded Fox News White House correspondent.
"Mr. Mast, since you deny the allegations against you, who do you think is behind the story?"
"The motivation is one of three things. An honest mistake by the journalist, which is possible but not likely, a hit piece planted by another candidate, certainly possible, or a hit piece planted by the liberal creators of Ameritocracy who'd like to see a left-leaning candidate win. If it was an honest mistake, I expect a retraction by the end of the day. If it was a hit piece planted by my opposition, or by the leaders of Ameritocracy…" he looks straight into the camera, like he's trying to make eye contact with me, "...they'll regret it. It won't work."
Next, Brenda calls on a young man with thick glasses and messy black hair, who looks like he's there on his first assignment out of journalism school. His voice quivers as he speaks. "Mr. Mast, are you worried about the public response to these allegations? In the last two hours you've dropped from number two to number four on the Ameritocracy leaderboard, and the article has been shared over a million times. It's spreading like wildfire."
I check the leaderboard and, sure enough, Mast is down to number four. Now number five. Voters are responding to the news, and I hope our servers can withstand the massive influx of traffic they must be getting.
There's condescension in Mast's smile. "What's the famous quote? A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is still tying its shoes. Something like that. Mark Twain, I think. This is an example of that."
"But Mr. Mast, don't you need to rebut the specific charges in the article in order to regain the trust of Ameritocracy voters?"
"I don't believe I've lost it."
The reporter holds up his phone, stepping forward for Mast to see. Brenda rushes forward to block it, but Mast leans across the desk and takes the phone. It's an odd moment, a press conference that's gone off the rails, and it's interesting on multiple levels.
First, it shows that Mast is a weaker candidate than anyone thought. As a general, he had to be tough, and I'm sure he was. But faced with public scandal, his lack of PR instincts leave him exposed.
Second, if the kid's phone shows what I think—that Mast just dropped below Maria Ortiz Morales into the number six position—it means the world is witnessing Mast's demise on live TV. A good chunk of the military vote abandoned Mast for Morales in the last hour, even though they disagree on most issues other than military funding.
The look on Mast's face says it all. Confusion, followed by a quiver in his right cheek that's either rage or sadness or an unholy mix of both. "I, I…this is probably a fake site…this doesn't look like the regular website and—"
"It's the official Ameritocracy app, sir."
Brenda looks at the floor. She's probably updating her résumé in her head.
"Well," Mast says, "I don't know what you and your generation of app lovers do, but I go by the website and—"
"Sir, Mr. Mast, with all due respect, the data on the website and the app is identical. Check for yourself if you don't believe me."
"Well, I…in any case, I believe that when the voters hear my defense, they'll see these accusations for what they are. Lies."
Mast moves on to a friendlier reporter, but he's visibly shaken. I minimize the window and listen to the press conference as I browse social media. I knew the story would be big, but it's absolutely everywhere. It spread more quickly than I could have imagined, more quickly than I'm comfortable with.
In addition to Gretchen's story, two old rumors about Mast have resurfaced. A story about him sleeping with a subordinate while in the army is gaining traction even though it was debunked by multiple news outlets a decade ago. A video of Mast using the N-word to describe a sitting U.S. Senator is making the rounds as well. The only problem is that the video is fake. It came out months ago and spread online before researchers at MIT proved it had been created using old Mast speeches and cutting-edge AI technology. Although I'm glad to see Gretchen's story spreading, I'm appalled that fake stories are rising in its wake.
I text Steph, asking her to tell our interns to get online to refute the false claims about Mast, but I know it won't do any good. The video of Mast is getting a thousand retweets a minute. And though he has a smattering of defenders, most people believe that anyone who would call a senator the N-word would definitely lie about how he financed his Ameritocracy campaign.
Social media awes me on a regular basis. It destroyed DB in a matter of days, and it looks like it will end Mast's run more quickly than that. The internet has spoken: Robert Mast is guilty. And though he's guilty of some of what he's accused of, I take no pleasure in his demise. To me, it still matters that he be judged only for what he actually did. But nuance is rare in life, even rarer on social media.
By the time I land, Mast has sunk to seventh. At the rate he's falling, he'll be out of the top ten before I get to baggage claim. Even if he spends the rest of the week refuting the fake video and the story about his affair, his candidacy is over. Chances are, so is his career.
25
Mast's ranking fell all day, bottoming out around number thirty by seven o'clock, when Steph and I finally called it quits to have a glass of wine at her apartment.
As expected, pundits and Mast supporters spent the day accusing us of leaking the story. We issued a vague denial.
Gretchen's story led to a debate on cable news about Ameritocracy's financing rules, followed by promises to better vet our candidates. I answered questions all day, most from reporters, but some from our leading candidates. We tried to defend Mast from the attacks we knew were false, but sidestepped the claims about his shady campaign financing, allowing the outrage to spread organically.
I found fifteen minutes to call Gretchen's contact at Page Six to answer questions about my breakup with Peter. Apparently he'd heard rumors of Peter's interest in men from other ex-girlfriends, but never anything he could print. And that's what he was after. I gave him absolutely nothing, surprising myself with my newfound ability to speak in clichés. As pissed as I am at Peter, there's no way I would give the New York Post anything about his personal life. So I went with, "We parted ways as friends" and "mutual respect" and "a special part of my life." I concluded with a pivot back to Ameritocracy, a technique I've gotten good at recently. "Mr. Colton and I met because of Ameritocracy, and, like parents who protect their children during a divorce, we agreed to put Ameritocracy front and center."
Steph sets her glass on the coffee table in front of the couch and hands me her phone. "Did you see this?"
It's a YouTube video of Malcolm's performance with Dolly Parton, and it recently passed ten million views. "We were there when history was made."
Steph laughs. "I'm gonna miss him."
"Wait, what?"
"Malcolm."
"I know you meant Malcolm, but what did you mean about missing him?"
"He didn't tell you? He's going on tour."
"When? I mean, I knew he'd quit working for Peter, but—"
"Dolly asked him to join her for six shows this spring, which lead to invites from a few major clubs. It's enough money to get him by, and he's pretty sure it will lead to more opportunities."
"That's…awesome."
Steph can hear the hesitancy in my voice. "Okay, dish."
"All that happened before the video with Doll
y went viral, right?"
"Right."
"So he's going to get even more calls, even more opportunities. This could be his big break."
"Why don't you sound happy for him?"
I walk to the window, passing my wine glass from hand to hand. A light rain falls in the parking lot, forming little puddles around Bluebird. "I am happy for him."
"You don't sound like it."
"I guess I'll miss him, y'know? He was the first person I met in Santa Clarissa. He made me feel comfortable before the presentation. Without him, I don't know whether all this would have happened."
Steph laughs. "So he's who I can blame for getting dragged to California?"
"Seriously. I'll just…can we talk about something else?"
Steph grabs the bottles of wine from the kitchen and meets me back at the couch. "I was thinking, we should celebrate."
"Why?"
"February fifteenth. Last day to register. No more clowns throwing their hats in the ring. We're always so focused on our top ten, I thought we should raise a glass to celebrate the candidates at the bottom of the list, and say a prayer for them to stay there. Remember the dude who wanted the federal government to give free weed to all citizens?"
"I miss that guy. Wasn't he gonna draft Snoop Dogg as his running mate?"
"That's what he said."
I accept a refill and hold my glass ceremonially. "And here's to Aliens Control the Internet Guy."
"And to Forced Male Sterilization Lady."
"Eh, she was okay, but she was no Paganism as the National Religion Dude."
Steph giggles. "I liked him. More fun than that guy who kept posting Constitutional Amendments in random order. The Tenth, the Sixteenth, the Third…no commentary or anything, just amendments. He was like a Twitter bot someone wrote as a project in their first computer class."
"That dude got like four hundred votes!"
"Honestly, I think this proves the value of what we're doing here. I don't love all our top candidates, but we gave people an honest choice, and the ones who got the most votes are only half insane, at most."