Brazen Virtue

writers collaborated on and he edited. His ride to the White House was more than a decade in the making. Hayden might have preferred a Mercedes, but he made certain his staff had rented a Lincoln.
    His appearance at Tiger Stadium had been as solidly cheered as the two-hit shutout. His picture, in a fielder’s cap with his arm around the winning pitcher, had made the front page of the Free Press . The crowds in Michigan and Ohio had been vocal, his promises believed, his speeches applauded.

    Already in the works was a trip to America’s heartland. Kansas, Nebraska, Iowa. He wanted the farmer behind him. As fate would have it, he could fall back on his great-grandfather who had tilled the land. That made him America’s son, the salt of the earth, despite the fact that he was the third generation of Haydens to graduate from Princeton.
    When he won the election—Hayden never thought in terms of if’s—he would implement his plans to strengthen the backbone of the country. Hayden believed in America, so that his vigorous speeches and impassioned pleas rang with sincerity. Destinies—his own and his country’s—were innate beliefs, but Hayden knew both games and war had to be played to achieve them. He was a man with a single purpose: to rule, and rule well. Some would suffer, some would sacrifice, some would weep. Hayden was a firm believer in the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few. Even when the few were his own family.
    He loved his wife. The fact was he could never have fallen in love with anyone unsuitable. His ambition was too much a part of what made him. Claire suited him—her looks, her background, and her manner. She was a Merriville and, like the Vanderbilts and Kennedys, had grown up in the comfortable surroundings of inherited wealth and position sweated for by immigrant forefathers. Claire was a bright woman who understood that in their circle the planning of a menu could be as important as the passage of a bill.
    She had married Hayden knowing that ninety percent of his energy would always be earmarked for his work. He was a vigorous, dedicated man and considered ten percent more than enough for his family. If anyone had accused him of neglecting them, he would have been more amused than annoyed.

    He loved them. Naturally he expected top performances from the members of his family, but that was a matter of pride as well as ambition. It pleased him to see his wife dressed beautifully. It pleased him to see his son in the top ten percent of his class. Hayden wasn’t a man to give praise for what he expected. If Jerald’s grades had dipped, it would have been a different matter altogether. Hayden wanted the best for his son, and wanted the best out of him.
    He was seeing that Jerald had the best education, and was proud of what his son seemed to be doing with it. Already Hayden was making plans for his son’s political career. Though he had no intention of passing on his power for a few decades, when he did, he would damn well pass it on to his own.
    He expected Jerald to be ready and willing.
    Jerald was well mannered, bright, sensible. If he spent too much time by himself, Hayden usually dismissed it as adolescent intensity. The boy was almost emotionally attached to his computer. Girls hadn’t entered the picture, and Hayden could only be relieved. Studies and ambition always took second place to females with an impressionable young man. Of course, the boy wasn’t particularly good-looking. A late bloomer, Hayden had often told himself. Jerald had always been a plain, thin boy who tended to slouch if he wasn’t reminded to hold himself straight. He was on the dean’s list consistently, always polite and attentive at dinner parties, and at eighteen had a firm handle on politics and the party line.
    He rarely gave his father a moment’s worry.
    Until lately.
    “The boy’s sulking, Claire.”
    “Now, Charlton.” Claire held up her pearl drops and her diamond studs to see which best suited her evening dress. “He has to be allowed his little moods.”
    “What about this business about having a headache and not attending tonight’s dinner?” Charlton fussed with his monogrammed cuffs. The laundry had overstarched again. He’d have to speak with his secretary.

    While his gaze was fixed elsewhere, Claire shot her husband a quick, worried look. “I think he’s been studying too hard. He does it to please you.” She decided on the pearls. “You know how much he looks