Having a farm in Upperville, Virginia, or nearby Middleburg, is a marker of wealth in Washington, a symbol that you are either a descendant of plantation owners or you are the first to begin building the desired legacy—the American Dream.
The general had bought the old property during the economic recession—a place for his in-laws to retire and a gathering spot for the family on weekends and holidays. Once a corn mill in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, it was the first plantation set on fire in the “burning raids” of the Confederacy as American troops marched up to the bloody battle of Gettysburg. When the general became chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, when all the power and status he would claim in Washington culminated, this was the country home he’d chosen—his thumbprint pressed upon another part of history. The only spoiler was the perpetual smell of jet fuel and engine noise from the home just a mile down the road, where the scion of an American banking dynasty had added a goddamn airstrip for the private jet to fly his family to and from New York.
A roaring fire climbs up the stone chimney. Wooden beams cross fifteen-foot ceilings in the living room, where military sketches of various battles cover the walls between warped windowpanes. Carol sits in the corner of a beige sofa, her red reading glasses on top of her head. Crow’s-feet stretch the length of her upper cheekbones; she’s exhausted from the buried tears, her silent days escaping in books at the library. Her parents sit side by side opposite her, a simple couple just grateful to be there, as the general enters in his blue uniform. His lawyer and Billy follow in his shadow.
“Carol, Shirley, Bob, this is my attorney, Rod Bernstein. He’s going to walk everyone through what we should expect in the next few weeks and how to handle it in public.”
Rod Bernstein is one of the most prominent “fixers” in Washington; with a little too much Botox, he drives a Maserati and is currently having sex with a twenty-four-year old computer “engineer.” He’s the guy to call when a senator kills a prostitute, news of a president’s shell company gets leaked, a congressman crashes his car after too many whiskeys—or when the nominee for secretary of defense is being investigated for war crimes.
Billy takes a seat next to his grandmother, who gives him a warm hug, smelling of lavender potpourri.
“Hello, everyone,” says Bernstein. “So, we will start with you, Billy, because I know the general only needs you for part of this preparation for what we’re about to be dealing with here.”
Billy looks at his father, then to his mother at this discriminatory move—he’s intentionally being left out of the “grown-up” conversation as punishment for his recent overdose; he’s a liability to them now. The general stands next to Mr. Bernstein, arms folded, brow furrowed, zero shame regarding the hefty price he’s paid to get him here.
Bernstein continues, “If the press follows you to school, to your basketball games, girlfriend’s house, or whatnot, ignore them. Do not talk to them. If they heckle you, keep walking. Those tailing you are lowest on the totem pole, and despite it being illegal, no one with half a brain will care what you’re up to unless the video gets released. The point is to keep your online presence clean, etcetera. But before I go to the video—”
Billy’s grandmother interrupts: “What video? What video is he talking about?”
“Please, Shirley, do not interrupt him,” the general says with the predictable irritation of a son-in-law, “he will get there.”
“Okay, sorry.”
“Before I go there, I want you, Billy, to keep your head and chin up when you walk, stand tall and proud. Appearances and first impressions are half of the battle. And if images end up online, you will at least look confident. Only celebrities look down. You are a product of a legacy that requires you to keep this confidence in the face of adversity.”
“Yes, sir, okay,” Billy says, his clammy palms folded in his lap.
“Now,” Bernstein says, “if the video of you being waterboarded with champagne and using language that would be perceived as bigoted is released, we’re dealing with something a little more serious.”
“WILLIAM MONTGOMERY,” his grandmother says, looking at him in disbelief and shame. He has betrayed her legacy, her daughter’s legacy, his own good judgment, and their family’s reputation. Carol can’t bring herself to look at him.
“IF the video is released and catches fire with the media, it will call for a period of isolation. In which case, you will be driven to and from school by security. You cannot, at any time, be seen in public, as it will perpetuate the story in the gossip columns.”
The general nods his head to concur with his attorney, despite being in uncharted waters.
“Presumably there will be threats, violent or otherwise—”
“Oh my God,” Carol says, on the verge of tears.
“If so, we’ll be monitoring, so there is no need to worry. I guarantee this, Carol. But, if it is released, at least it’s now and not later, as the news cycle tends to slow down during the holidays. But it also makes the situation ripe for anything particularly salacious to go viral. So we’ll need to keep watch. If it does, there is nothing we can do to stop it. You will need to ride it out as best you can, and complete the instructions given to you by my team regarding the isolation period.”
There is a moment where Billy stays silent, prompting the general to say, “ARE WE CLEAR, WILLIAM?”
“Yes, sir,” he says, a lump in his throat, his world closing in on him, the unknown, an unbearable feeling to hold inside.
“Great. So you understand?” says Bernstein.
“Yes, sir,” Billy replies.
Bernstein looks to General Montgomery and says, “So
