Chapter 1884 - 1404: Reaching a Compromise

"Alright, I agree."

In the end, Hillary chose to relent, her voice unusually tired, lacking the previous firmness.

"But, he must turn over all the original evidence!"

Pausing, she then asked, "What about the Horizon Group?"

"I will handle them personally. You won't be unfamiliar with their CEO Angel, who is from the Nancy family. I think she's a smart girl and can be persuaded."

Hillary smiled bitterly, "So this is a deal within a deal."

"Politics is a series of deals, Rodham. You know this better than anyone."

The piano music stopped.

Applause came from downstairs, probably because her husband Bill had just finished telling a joke.

The fundraising dinner was about to officially begin. The target of eight million dollars awaited its final achievement. Swing state votes were waiting to be secured, and the historic opportunity to become the first female president of the United States awaited realization.

And all of this hung on a pardon document she had yet to see.

"Does the pardon need my signature?" she asked.

"An electronic signature will suffice. The document has been sent to your secure server."

Hillary walked to her desk, opening an encrypted laptop.

The screen lit up, requiring both iris and fingerprint verification.

Ten seconds later, she saw the document: a full twenty-three pages of legal jargon, with the core content condensed in the third paragraph: "Based on considerations of national security, and to avoid causing irreversible harm to the ongoing operations of the government..."

As a doctorate graduate from Yale Law School, she knew she only needed to look at a few key clauses.

Scrolling to the last page.

The signature line already had two names.

One was Barack Obama.

The other was the Attorney General.

The third space had a blinking cursor.

The pearl necklace in her hand grew warm from being played with.

"If I sign it," she said into the phone, "this matter will never be made public, right?"

"Never," Obama said. "Horizon will pull down the preview, issuing a statement that 'Based on further verification, related materials will be withheld temporarily.' Song Heping will receive a pardon, return the materials, get the arms he needs, and I will have someone reach out and turn him into our asset. You can continue focusing on your campaign, talking about the economy, education, health care, everything that truly concerns the voters."

"And what about the impact from the documents already public?"

"They will become fodder for conspiracy theorists, but without follow-up evidence, the mainstream media will shift to the next news cycle within two weeks." Obama paused. "Time will dilute everything. It always does."

Hillary gazed outside the window.

Car lights still flowed, more guests arriving.

The wealthiest and most influential people in this country were waiting in her living room for her to appear, to take photos with her, to hear her talk about a story of hope and resilience.

She picked up the stylus.

"For the Donkey Party," she said softly, unsure if she was speaking to Obama or to herself, "to keep everything we hold dear from falling into the hands of those who fundamentally don't understand."

The pen touched the screen.

But there was one thing she left unsaid, buried in her heart.

For her ambition.

The signing process only took three seconds.

Electronic ink etched her familiar handwriting.

Smooth, powerful, unquestionable.

Just like thousands of documents she had signed before.

Appropriations bills, diplomatic notes, personnel appointments.

Only this time, the signature meant a pardon, a compromise to a mercenary leader, a sacrifice on the altar of pragmatic politics, a part of her principles.

"It's done," she said.

On the other end of the phone came an almost inaudible sigh.

Was it relief, or guilt?

Hillary couldn't tell.

"Thank you, Rodham. Now go to the dinner. Have Bill tell a few more jokes, and don't forget to get a photo with the CEO of JPMorgan Chase, his wife's family has significant influence in Florida."

The call ended.

Hillary put down the phone, standing in the deepening dusk.

The woman in the mirror was still perfect, her makeup impeccable, her expression calm and placid.

Only she knew that something had just changed forever.

Not on her face, but in a subtle corner of her soul.

She looked one last time at the computer screen.

The pardon document was being securely transmitted back to the White House.

History would not record this moment, the media would not report this exchange, and voters would never know, as they discussed health care plans and employment figures, that a deal concerning national security and moral compromises had just been reached in the Virginia twilight.

Taking a deep breath, Hillary turned and headed to the door.

When her hand rested on the brass doorknob, she paused for a moment, adjusting the curve of her lips to make her smile both confident and kind, both firm and warm.

Then she opened the door, walked down the stairs, and into the applause and lights.

Washington D.C., 5:33 PM.

Barack Obama put down the red secure phone, leaning back into the leather chair.

The silence of the Oval Office now had weight, pressing on his shoulders and chest.

He sat alone, without the main lights on, only the green-shaded desk lamp on the corner and the wall lights flanking the portrait of George Washington above the fireplace casting warm and limited halos in the late autumn dusk.

Four minutes.

He gave himself four minutes, before the next call, the next crisis, the next decision he must make.

His gaze swept across the office.

Everything here bore the weight of history: the desk used by Kennedy, the fireplace Franklin Roosevelt listened to fireside chats by, the replica chair Lincoln sat in when signing the Emancipation Proclamation.