President Bernstein knew that this woman had made her fortune dealing with the rich, and quite frankly he worried about that. Would she have any connection to regular people? He thought the new secretary of the Treasury should have a broad understanding of the people who lived in the United States, but that was the kind of discussion he wanted to have in person. Also, previous secretaries had been rich or had come from big Wall Street companies and some of them turned out to be a good fit, so he wasn’t going to make any judgments until he spent some time with her.
He called her at the hotel at eight o’clock just to welcome her to Washington and to tell her to come to the White House for lunch the next afternoon. The phone call lasted almost an hour.
Matthew Bernstein was a no-nonsense phone person. He figured that anytime he spoke with someone he was being recorded, and that caused him to keep his conversations short and to the point. So when he glanced at the clock and saw that he and Susanna had been talking for fifty-eight minutes, just talking, like friends, he was quite amazed. She was funny and smart and had that soothing sound of an older woman who has been around the block and has great stories to tell about it. They were to meet at noon the following day, and after he hung up he realized he hadn’t even mentioned specifically why he’d requested that she come to Washington. And she hadn’t asked. That was highly unusual.
When he went upstairs to the living quarters, he told Betsy how he had talked to this woman for an hour, and his wife looked almost jealous. She had never seen her husband stay on the line for that long. “What were you talking about?”
“Washington, business, growing up, just stuff.”
“Does she sound like she’ll be good at the job?”
“I don’t know; she sounded like she would be a better mother.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“She sounded wise. Sort of what you’d like your mom to sound like on the phone.”
“Really? Well, if she’s not good at Treasury, hire her as a shrink.”
The President laughed. If only I could have a shrink without the world finding out. “I’m going to meet her tomorrow. I’ll know more then.”
“Sounds like you know now.”
The President was excited when he got up the next morning. Who was this woman who kept him on the line and made his wife jealous? He would find out in a few hours.
When he went downstairs, Van Dyke was waiting for him. “We have a debt-reduction meeting in an hour and you have a meeting at one o’clock with General Marshal.”
“One o’clock? I have a lunch with Susanna at noon; what if it runs over?”
“Well, if you can’t decide in an hour you can meet her later in the day, but I think you’ll have an idea in ten minutes.”
“Does she know what job she is being offered?”
“You told me you wanted to tell her. She knows it’s important, but you wanted to play this ‘surprise me’ game, so I didn’t say anything.”
“It’s not a ‘surprise me’ game; I need to look into a person’s eyes when they hear information like this for the first time. It tells me something.”
“Couldn’t you have seen that on the screen?”
“Listen,” the President said, “we fired one guy because he was on the screen too much; I don’t want to start out a new relationship the same way.”
“I hear you. If an hour isn’t enough, let me know by twelve-thirty and I’ll push the general.”
Bernstein went about his morning business checking the time every fifteen minutes. My God, I haven’t looked at a clock so much since I was in school waiting for recess. What’s gotten into me?
He was sitting at his desk signing some meaningless papers when Annie buzzed him exactly at noon. “Mr. President, Ms. Colbert is here.”
He opened the door, and standing there was a class act. That was his first impression. A woman seventy years old, looking fifty, with gray-blond hair, very well styled, in great physical shape, slate blue eyes, wearing a teal-colored cashmere dress and a smile to kill for. The President extended his hand and she followed him into the Oval Office.
“I realized we talked for an hour last night and I never asked you what I was here for,” Susanna said.
“I realized the same thing. Are you hungry?”
“I am.”
“Hungry for what?”
“That’s a loaded question, Mr. President. But if you mean food, a turkey sandwich on sourdough would be great.”
“Do you like your bread toasted? Wait, let me guess. Yes.”
“No.”
“Damn it. I thought I knew everything about you.”
“I like bread toasted but not sourdough. If I asked for rye I would have it toasted.”
“Why not sourdough?”
“Because untoasted sourdough absorbs the flavor of the sandwich. Much better than other kinds of bread.”
“You know, it’s good that you know this, because the job I am offering you is White House chef.” Susanna didn’t laugh immediately. She had always fancied herself as a great cook, and for one millisecond the offer sounded wonderful.
“I accept.”
“What else would you like with your sandwich?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
The President placed the order. Two turkey sandwiches on untoasted sourdough, pickles, tomatoes, and a dab of French mustard. And two coffees.
“Do you often order the same thing as your guest?”
“I already ate. I just ordered two in case you’re really hungry.”
She laughed. “You have a delightful sense of humor.”
“Thanks.” He paused a second or two and then just said it. “I’ve brought you here to see if you are interested in becoming the first woman secretary of the Treasury of the United States.”
The offer hit Susanna like a right hook. Whatever she was expecting, this wasn’t it. “Really?” was all she could come up with.
“Yes. Do you think it’s something you might be interested in?”
“Yes. It’s something I’ve never thought about, but when you say it, it sounds like it was always my plan.”
“I’ve had that feeling, too,” the President said. “I call it Déjà Beshert.”
“What is that?”
“I just made it up. Beshert is Hebrew for ‘meant to be.’ And ‘déjà’ means … oh, you know what ‘déjà’ means.”
“Well, I like the expression,” she said. “And I am very interested in the job.”
“Of course, you would have to move here.”
“Not a problem. My husband travels frequently; I don’t know that he would even notice. And my children are grown.”
“What does your husband do?” The President knew, but he wanted her to tell him.
“He’s an archeologist. He works with several universities. He’s very good at it.”
At that moment the lunch arrived and the two of them ate and talked effortlessly, and at the end of the hour the deal was done.
“Susanna, I don’t expect any issues with the approval process, but I would like you to spend a few days with John Van Dyke so you can go over the details of the job and make sure you are as comfortable as you seem to be. When you go before Congress I don’t want there to be any surprises. I’m sure it will all be fine, but I want the transition to be as free from stress as possible. Work out the schedule with John and at the end of that time we will make the announcement, providing you don’t change your mind.”
“I don’t intend to change my mind.”
“I know you don’t, but you haven’t seen the numbers. They’re not pretty.”
Susanna smiled. “I don’t expect them to be. Thank you, Mr. President. Can I call you if I have any questions during this period?”
“You can call me even if you don’t. Just not too late at night; I don’t want any problems at home.” Susanna laughed. Matthew Bernstein loved this woman. Not in a sexual way, but in a way that no other older woman in his life had ever qu
ite filled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Shen Li’s gift to the kids of Los Angeles had gone over very well. He was even contacted by the governor of California, who wanted to thank him personally. But Li was frustrated. He still wanted to break into the United States health market, but he didn’t know the exact way to go about it. Of course, health had become a global business, but Li didn’t just want to buy into America, he wanted to change it.
When Anthem Blue Cross was sold years earlier to an Arab company, it created a small amount of uproar in Congress, along the lines of, “Should Arabs be taking care of Americans?” But since no national security was involved, the protest went nowhere, and the United Arab Health Group became the second-biggest provider of health insurance in America.
No one noticed any difference. The company’s intent was not to change the system but to buy a profitable business and save money by combining accounting costs with its other businesses around the world. People thought Arab doctors would fill the hospitals, but the hospitals looked exactly the same. The same long lines. The same poor service. And this was exactly what Shen Li was not interested in.
Li always felt that what he created in China was the most efficient system in the world, and he just knew that it would translate everywhere. But America was not yet clamoring for his ideas.
In 2026 he was able to break into the Indian market, and he took that country by storm. India had already had solid heath care in its biggest and richest cities, but like China, that care simply disappeared in the smaller towns. And it was those places where most of the people lived. If people in those areas got sick, they would have to ride hundreds of miles to a small clinic, or do nothing. Li used the system he invented in China and began serving the India that no one had served before. His Health Care for All made its way into the parts of that country that had never even seen a doctor.
One of Li’s original secrets—aside from letting nurses do most of the work with the help of virtual doctors—was robotic surgery. Obviously, surgery needed to be performed by trained physicians, but technology now made it possible for that to be done from anywhere in the world. And instead of buying superexpensive robotic units for each distant location, Li had them mobilized. They were constantly on the move so that none of the five-million-dollar robots was ever idle. It was like combining medicine with Federal Express. Each operating unit, as soon as it was finished in one location, was cleaned and on its way to the next place within an hour, either by truck, plane, or train, whatever was the most cost-effective way to move it.
These self-contained operating theaters could work anywhere, even where there was no electricity, so the concept of patients traveling a long way for major surgery was slowly becoming a thing of the past. If someone in a small Indian village showed up with an acute appendicitis, the operating unit could be in that location within a half a day. Certainly faster than getting that person to the nearest big city, which could be a thousand miles away.
Doctors in Hong Kong or Beijing—or whatever place Li had agreements with—would take out the appendix remotely, and only one nurse would have to be in attendance. Even anesthetic was given remotely, with everything monitored the same way as if the anesthesiologist was in the room.
Shen Li was the first person in the world to perfect this mobile system, and he was still the best at it. And even though he had a few doctors he partnered with in the United States who would sometimes act as the remote surgeon, the idea itself had not yet cracked the American market.
The American Medical Association was against it in principle, saying that Americans didn’t live in small villages, that everyone in the USA was close enough to a working hospital where they could be seen in person and given personal contact. The AMA’s real fear was that the mobile system would put doctors out of business. It was feared that one surgeon in South Africa, for example, could do seven or eight operations a day, taking business away from American hospitals.
The AMA spent a fortune on advertising trying to convince people that a physician in attendance was better. One ad that was especially effective showed a doctor on one side of the bed, soothing an older woman, and a robot on the other side, just making machine noises. The voice-over said, “Which one would you choose?” But worldwide results of robotic surgery proved that the robots were no better or worse than having the doctor there. Surgery was only about who was doing the procedure, and whether they were in the room or in Greenland, the result was the same.
As for America, Li needed a way in. So when he got his thank-you letter from the governor of California, he framed it, sensing it might be the start of something.
* * *
Max and Kathy stood at the north shore of Lake Michigan and opened her father’s urn. “I’ve never done this before,” Kathy said. “Do you say a prayer?”
“Only if you believe in God.”
“Well, I believe in something, so whatever it all is I hope my dad becomes one with the universe and finds peace, along with adventure.”
“That’s great,” Max said. “Peace along with adventure. What a great wish.”
With that, Kathy raised her arms as high as she could, and spun around, flinging the ashes into the lake. Some of them fell by her feet, and she kicked those into the water, but most made their way onto the surface, where they eventually either sank or were blown away from the shore.
“Did your dad like to fish?”
“No.”
“Did he like boating?”
“Not really.”
“What did he like about the water?”
“He wasn’t a big water person.”
“So how come you chose the lake?”
“It was your idea.”
“I thought you wanted it.”
“I did want it. It’s beautiful here.”
“He must have liked something about the water.”
“He liked fried clams.”
“There you go. Soon he might be a part of what he loved to eat.”
Now Kathy was having second thoughts. Maybe this wasn’t the best place. Maybe a bowling alley would have been better. But it was a beautiful day, the sun was setting over the lake, and the idea of coming back as anything anyway was so remote, she felt she had given her father a proper send-off.
As they were driving home, Kathy sat quietly, looking out the window.
“What are you thinking about right now?” Max asked her.
“I was thinking about all those old people at the lecture. How happy they looked. Like they had crossed a barrier where worry and fear don’t seem as important.”
“Goddamn right. Because they’re taken care of. I’d feel worry-free, too, if I had millions of young slaves attending to my every need.”
“I keep thinking how unfair it was that my dad didn’t get to enjoy any peace. He was always worried.”
“Of course he was. He was the first generation that wasn’t being coddled. And I’m telling you, and you mark my words: When we get to your dad’s age it’s going to be ten times worse. Those old fuckers will still be alive. We’ll be paying for one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old people to be carried to the toilet.”
“So what can we do?”
“We can kill them all.”
Kathy stared at him and then smiled. “That’s a joke, right?”
“I guess. I guess that would be impractical. But we certainly can present the case of the younger generations in a more forceful way.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, exactly. It’s what I’ve been thinking about for years. But there has to be a final solution.”
Kathy liked that phrase, “final solution.” Of course, she had never heard it in its original context. Max didn’t know what it meant, either; it just sounded good. “That’s a good phrase,” Kathy said. “Did you make that up?”
“I don’t think so. I heard it. I think it comes from a war. It means taking care of business once and for all.”
“Well, if anyone can come up wit
h a plan, it’s you. You’re amazing and I feel a part of you.”
* * *
“She’s brilliant,” John Van Dyke said to the President. “I have never seen anyone, except for you, who can take in tremendous amounts of information so quickly and with such understanding.”
“That’s what I thought.” The President got Susanna on the line. “You still want the job after spending all that time with John?”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“Okay. Why don’t you call your family and close friends and tell them you are to be the eighty-first, and first woman, Treasury Secretary of the United States.”
Susanna let out a squeal. “Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Get your life in order over the next week; we’ll get you in front of the Senate and they’ll fall in love with you like everyone else here. I think you’re going to be superb. And Susanna?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Besides California, work on the one-world currency idea we discussed. Give me your thoughts on that as soon as possible.”
“Absolutely. I’m thrilled. I hope I don’t give you any problems with the Senate.”
“The only problem you’ll give me is that they’ll want to keep you there.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“See you soon.” The President turned off his screen.
“Sir,” Van Dyke said, “do you want help in wiping that grin off your face?”
“Does it show that much?”
“I think she’s great, too.”
“She’s more than great. Except for you, she is the easiest person to talk to in this whole place. She might even be easier than you.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Always. You should always be worried. But I’m telling you, John, her business acumen will come in handy. She is full of ideas and so persuasive, but in a good way. She makes you think it was your idea. That’s an incredible gift. Quite frankly, I’m surprised she never ran for office. She would be impossible not to vote for.”
“She was probably too busy becoming superrich.”
“And that’s another thing,” the President said. “You absolutely forget that when you’re with her, and when you’re reminded of it, you don’t care. She doesn’t wear her money, which I love.” At that moment Betsy appeared on the President’s screen.
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