The Big Lie
Page 1
Dedication
For Tiffany
Epigraph
The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie—deliberate, contrived, and dishonest—but the myth—persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic.
—John F. Kennedy
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
November Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Epilogue: December
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by James Grippando
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
Balloons. Countless balloons.
Jack lifted his gaze to the domed ceiling above the jumbotron, his attention drifting from the monotony onstage. Suspended high in the rafters, nestled in giant nets that stretched from one end of the arena to the other, thousands of shiny latex balloons hovered like red, white, and blue storm clouds ready to burst and bury the 4,763 delegates on the convention floor.
It had taken nearly a half century for the Democratic National Convention to return to Miami, and probably with good reason. The convention that had sent Senator George McGovern off to slaughter was remembered only for air-conditioning so faulty that delegates passed out from the South Florida heat, and organization so lacking that the acceptance speech was delivered after most of America had gone to bed. So uneventful was it that, just four years after clashing with Chicago Police and shouting, “The whole world is watching,” leaders of the antiwar movement spent most of the 1972 convention at the Poodle Lounge or the Boom-Boom Room at the Fountainebleau Hotel in Miami Beach talking about the good ol’ days.
“From my first day in office to my last,” the nominee droned on, “my primary mission as president will be to create more opportunity and more good jobs with rising wages.”
It was yet another stock line from Florida’s junior senator, which drew dutiful applause from the nation’s most enthusiastic Democrats, who were determined to make their nominee’s uninspired speech worthy of prime-time television. Some delegates on the convention floor looked on with adoration in their eyes and tears streaming down their faces. Jack could only guess what moment in party history they were reliving in their minds to tap such emotion. As for Senator Evan Stahl Jr., history would record that his ninety-minute speech had hit its high point roughly eighty-nine minutes before its ending, with “I accept your nomination with humility, determination, and boundless confidence in America’s promise.”
Jack was still counting balloons. There appeared to be an equal number of red ones, white ones, and blue ones. He wondered why. The American flag was mostly red and white.
“God, this is awful,” his father muttered.
Harry Swyteck had been Jack’s ticket to the convention. The former governor and his wife were guests of honor, but Jack’s stepmother was feeling under the weather, so Jack got the former First Lady’s ticket. Father and son joined distinguished Democrats in a mezzanine-level box that came with theater-style leather seats, flat-screen TVs, a wet bar, and waitress service. Had the arena been rocking for basketball instead of politics, not even a second mortgage on the house could have put these seats within Jack’s financial reach.
“So it’s not just me?” Jack whispered. He and his father were standing in the back by the bar, a semi-private area that was perfect for business talks that couldn’t wait until after the game, the concert, or whatever the event.
“I’ve heard filibusters more interesting.”
That was quite an indictment. Decades earlier, Harry had served in the state legislature with Senator Stahl’s father, where they’d once combined to read the entire Tallahassee phone book into the record to filibuster a bill.
“What’s wrong with him tonight?” Jack asked.
Harry didn’t answer, but Jack’s question was sincere. Evan Stahl was a skilled politician, and by all accounts he was living a charmed life. Stahl had been a three-time NCAA scholar-athlete at the University of Florida and a Rhodes Scholar, then earned a law degree cum laude from Harvard. He’d returned to Florida with big political aspirations. Marrying the daughter of a Cuban immigrant turned multimillionaire, the ultimate American success story, certainly didn’t hurt his meteoric rise from state legislator to congressman to junior U.S. senator. As if to complete the presidential package, his wife had her own career as a hospital-based psychiatrist for the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, treating institutionalized inmates, but still finding time to raise a nine-year-old daughter who was as smart and passionate as her mother.
“I’m serious,” Jack whispered. “Something’s not right here.”
Some said that the senator was most effective in a town-hall setting, where he could engage directly with people. But never had he fallen on his face at the teleprompter the way he had tonight. It was the biggest speech of his life, and he was as flat as the Florida Everglades, his words lacking heart, as if his mind were elsewhere.
“America is once again at a moment of reckoning,” the candidate continued. “Powerful forces are threatening to pull us apart. Bonds of trust and respect are fraying.”
Jack felt his father’s hand on his shoulder. “Moments like these make me truly sorry you had no interest in politics. You could do better than this with no script.”
Harry was right on one count: the political bug had never bitten Jack. Like three and a half million other Floridians, Jack was an independent with no party affiliation—a fact that Harry had kept quiet to get his son inside the building under the honored-guest invitation to the former governor “and guest.” Jack wasn’t exactly passionate about the Democratic candidate, but he was no fan of the incumbent, Malcolm MacLeod, whom Democrats had been threatening to impeach since retaking the House of Representatives in the midterm election. The House never did vote on impeachment, instead making a calculated strategic decision to oust him through the ballot box. MacLeod’s base rallied behind him, but rumors of corruption were so pervasive that most experts proclaimed him a one-term president. Heading into the summer conventions, pollsters projected a Democratic cakewalk to the White House. Pundits quite seri
ously proclaimed that it didn’t matter who the Democrats nominated, as long as the nominee managed to avoid indictment for a capital felony between the convention and the general election in November.
The worry lines on his father’s face had Jack wondering if, as usual, the pundits were dead wrong.
“You know something, don’t you?” Jack said in a serious tone. “What is it, Dad?”
They retreated deep into the corner, farther out of earshot from the other guests. Harry kept his voice low as an added measure of privacy.
“I had a chat with Senior before dinner tonight,” said Harry, meaning Senator Stahl’s father. “He’s trying to talk his daughter-in-law out of suing for divorce.”
The news surprised Jack. He’d met the Democrats’ First Couple earlier in the campaign. They’d seemed happy, no sign of tension. “What happened?”
“The story will break tomorrow. Turns out, the senator has been having an affair.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Jack glanced at the jumbotron, where two hours earlier a DNC video had extolled the nominee as a family man who stood for family values.
“We have to decide whether we’re going to work together, so we can all rise together!” said Stahl, speaking in a voice that didn’t boom the way it should have.
Harry just shook his head, lacking the enthusiasm of the floor delegates, who at least pretended to be moved. “This affair is the answer to MacLeod’s prayers,” said Harry. “I honestly don’t think Evan’s campaign is going to survive.”
“I don’t mean to sound cynical,” said Jack, “but don’t you think you’re being a little old-fashioned? Plenty of politicians have survived extramarital affairs.”
“Not like this one.”
Jack’s imagination ran for a moment, but it was hard to conjure up anything in the nature of an “affair” that would shock the modern political world. “Who is she?”
Harry glanced at the stage again, then looked Jack in the eye. “That’s the problem. Rumor has it that the ‘other woman’ isn’t a woman.”
The senator reached for a big, fiery finish—and it sounded like a reach.
“My fellow Americans, there’s a clear choice ahead of us. One that looks at the future with fear and hatred, or a new vision of courage and confidence that builds a better tomorrow for our beloved children. That honors our beloved country. And that makes America greater than ever!”
The crowd erupted. Stahl thrust his arms in the air, but his gestures, like his words, lacked heart.
“Thank you! And may God bless the United States of America!”
On cue, the music blared, and the bulging nets fell away from the catwalks to release the colorful finale. Balloons poured down from the ceiling, covering the candidate, the stage, and the screaming throngs of delegates on the convention floor. Jack noted that the would-be First Lady did not join her husband onstage, which left the candidate awkwardly alone, knee-deep in inflated latex, engaged in a silly game of balloon volleyball with his supporters in the first row.
“You get the picture?” asked Harry.
Coming from his father, the question had Jack thinking of two other governors, Sanford of South Carolina and McGreevey of New Jersey—one who served out his gubernatorial term and was elected to Congress after he went missing in Argentina with his mistress; the other who resigned his office and disappeared from politics after announcing that he was gay.
“I get the picture, all right,” said Jack.
November
Chapter 2
It was the first Tuesday after the first Monday. The morning sun was a distant orange sliver rising from the Atlantic as Jack emerged from the bedroom dressed and ready for work. His wife and daughter were in the kitchen. Jack grabbed his car keys from the pewter dish on the counter, kissed his family good morning and goodbye, and headed for the door.
“Why you leaving so early, Daddy?”
Ever since her kindergarten teacher had introduced the concept of time, Righley found any occurrence outside the normal rhythm of things to be worthy of comment.
“I want to go vote before work,” said Jack. “Daddy has to cancel out Nana’s ballot.”
Andie popped a couple of frozen waffles into the toaster. “Just because my mother is a Republican doesn’t mean she’s voting for MacLeod. I’m a Republican, and I’m not voting for him.”
Jack liked his mother-in-law, and the fact that her heart was big enough to have adopted Andie out of foster care only elevated her in his eyes. But he had her pegged as someone who talked progressive and voted her pocketbook.
“No matter how many different ways I ask, your mother refuses to tell me who she’s voting for.”
“She’s a firm believer in the Australian ballot system.”
“What’s an Oztrain ballot?” asked Righley.
“It’s when kangaroos elect our president,” said Jack.
“Daddy’s so funny,” Andie said with a roll of her eyes. “It means that you don’t have to tell anyone who you voted for. It started in Australia a long time ago, so it’s called the Australian ballot system.”
“Mommy’s right. And the good thing about a secret ballot is that it stops bullies from telling you how to vote.”
“So stop telling my mother how to vote,” said Andie.
It made him stop and think. People said MacLeod was a bully, but both sides were guilty. “Fair enough,” he said, and he started toward the door, then stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot. Dad asked me to watch the election returns with him tonight.”
“Where?”
“Somebody’s house in the Gables. Not sure. It’s a watching party.”
“Jack, I really don’t feel like going anywhere tonight.”
“Actually, it’s invitation only. Dad got invited, and Agnes isn’t feeling up to it. He asked me to join him.”
“Seems like Agnes is playing the ‘not feeling well’ card a lot lately. Is she okay?”
“I wouldn’t read anything into it. I think she’s just tired of the campaign.”
“Or maybe Agnes is voting for MacLeod,” she said, teasing.
It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, and it wouldn’t have been the first point of disagreement between Jack and his stepmother. Not by a long shot. “Guess I’ll have to vote twice.”
“Daddy, you can’t do that!”
“That was another Daddy joke,” said Andie. “They’re easy to spot because you have to remind yourself to laugh.”
Jack opened the door. “So you don’t mind if I go tonight?”
“Honey, if this race is as close as it’s supposed to be, I’ll be in bed hours before we know the winner. Go. Have fun.”
“Thanks. I hope we will.”
Jack and his father were at Miami International Airport when the Stahl campaign jet touched down at 6:35 p.m., Eastern Time.
The senator had started the day by casting his vote three blocks from his house in Coral Gables. Then it was off to morning rallies in Michigan and Ohio, followed by quick hits in Tampa and Orlando, all in a last-ditch effort to turn purple voters blue before polls closed at 7:00 p.m. A cheering partisan crowd was on hand to welcome him home.
“I’m still not a fan of those caps,” Harry said.
Stahl and his staff never wore them, and there was no official campaign cap, but almost every supporter who’d turned out to greet him at the airport was wearing a pink baseball cap with the post-convention campaign slogan: make america fabulous again. It had started after President MacLeod got caught up in the moment at a campaign rally and turned on an effeminate accent to say that Senator Stahl wanted to “make America fabulous again.” It immediately caught on with Democrats. The caps were a nationwide sensation.
“What don’t you like about them?” asked Jack.
“I have no problem with gay pride. But this man cheated on his wife. Those hats disrespect Mrs. Stahl, and you don’t disrespect a wife and mother who’s hurting.”
Jack took the poi
nt. The caps would have been fine if an openly gay man were running for president. Nobody knew if Senator Stahl was gay, straight, or bisexual. The only thing for certain was that he was an adulterer.
The candidate and his team piled onto the campaign bus. Jack and his father went to the car, and Jack got behind the wheel. “Where to?”
“Just follow the bus,” said Harry.
Jack hesitated. “You said we were going to a watching party.”
“We are. At Senator Stahl’s house.”
“Dad, I’m not even a registered Democrat.”
“Nobody’s perfect,” said Harry.
“I’m serious. I felt awkward enough as the stand-in for Agnes at the convention.”
“You’re my son. Relax.”
Jack couldn’t help but be impressed that his father was on the invitation list. The run-up to the election had made it clear that the senator from Florida couldn’t win the White House without carrying his home state, so it only made sense to pull a popular former governor into the inner circle.
“How many people will be at the house?” asked Jack.
“A dozen or so.”
“Seems like a small group. Maybe I should just drop you off.”
“Are you nuts? I’ve already gotten you Secret Service clearance. Stahl is going to win, and this is your chance to be in the room with him as it happens. Be a part of history.”
It was indeed an excellent fly-on-the-wall opportunity, so Jack stopped protesting.
The drive to the Stahl residence took about twenty minutes. A Secret Service agent directed them through the gate to overflow parking on the other side of the fountain, and another agent checked their identification at the front door. Harry was instantly recognized by guests who’d arrived ahead of them, and even though Jack and his father were greeted with smiles, Jack could feel the tension in the air.
The final months of the campaign had been a bloodbath. Before the conventions, most analysts had given President MacLeod a better chance of being indicted than reelected—and that included analysts who were of the view that the Constitution probably prohibited the indictment of a sitting president. When news of an extramarital affair transitioned to rumors of a gay lover, support for Stahl in certain demographics dropped like a stone. It wasn’t just older voters. The biggest hit was among fiscal conservatives who embraced progressive social policies—the twenty-first-century version of “Rockefeller Republicans”; their progressivism had a limit, and for many that limit fell short of “His and His” bathrobes in the Florida Governor’s Mansion. By Election Day, the race was a dead heat. It would all come down to Stahl’s home state.