Steven Gore - Power Blind

“But you can’t prove it.”

“No. I can’t prove it.”

Gage heard a cash register ring in his head. Every empire was founded on a great crime. He remembered Landon’s shrug and silence when he’d mentioned the name of the offshore company.

He stared into Landon’s eyes, and said, “You’ve heard of Pegasus.”

Landon looked away, then back.

“It’s called capitalism. The logical political conclusion in a capitalist society.”

“No, Landon. It’s called fraud.”

Landon glared down at Gage. “You just don’t get it.”

Gage felt a shudder through his body. Landon was wrong. He got it. He got every bit of it and he said it aloud:

“All the money you’re putting into these campaigns is from fake insurance premiums corporations paid into Pegasus.”

“Why do you think they’re fake?”

“None of those companies needed the extra insurance, and Brandon and Anston sure as hell never paid out any claims.”

Landon drew himself up and squared his shoulders.

“First, it’s not Brandon, and second, companies buy insurance year by year, whatever isn’t paid out in claims is profit.”

“Well, has Pegasus ever paid out on an insurance claim?”

“It’s not insurance. It’s international reinsurance. It only pays out once a company exceeds its domestic insurance limits.”

“That’s not an answer. The question was whether Pegasus ever paid anything out.”

“I wouldn’t know. It’s not my company.”

Gage then began to see Pegasus though Anston’s lens: Pegasus was simply a political replica of the CIA front companies Anston set up in the 1970s to fund covert actions-

Except this time it wasn’t the leadership of a foreign country that was at stake. It was all three branches of the U.S. government.

Then more came to him.

“And the millions you put into those campaigns to get the last two votes for the Supreme Court nominees came from Pegasus.”

Landon shrugged. “Sort of.”

“I had thought the money came from the Silicon Valley Group.”

“How did you get that idea?”

“Somebody overheard Brandon talking.”

“They got it wrong. That was just bundling individual hard-money contributions. I put all of it into my political action committee. I’ve got copies of the checks to prove it.”

“But you’ve still got a foreign company at least indirectly contributing to a U.S. election campaign. That’s a violation not only of election laws but the Foreign Agents Registration Act.”

“Think again. They weren’t contributions. They were loans that came through Mann Trust.”

“It’s still foreign money.”

“U.S. banks are full of foreign money. You don’t think foreign deposits aren’t going into every bank in the U.S. that’s loaning money to political candidates? Hell, foreigners even own some of those banks.”

“What about money coming from Caribbean islands directly into campaigns?”

Landon shook his head. “It never does. Maybe into 527s and political action committees, even super-PACs, but never into any campaign accounts I’m associated with. That would be a crime. And the money is clean as long as the foreign account is controlled by U.S. citizens.” Landon smiled. “You want to talk to our lawyer?”

“Not if it’s Brandon or Anston.”

“The National Senatorial Campaign lawyer. And we have an opinion letter from Stone amp; Whitman.”

“I’m sure everyone on your side thinks it’s legal.”

“It’s more than legal. It’s exactly what I said. It’s what you get when you combine free market capitalism with politics.”

Gage shook his head and pointed at Landon. “Remember what happened the last time you took something to its logical conclusion?”

Landon stiffened. “I was just ahead of my time. The immigration issue wasn’t ripe.”

“And I’m not sure this one makes any more sense than that one did. Your political business model is leaving you not with profit but with debt. A whole lot of it.”

“For a while, only for a while. We just consider it an investment.”

“The way my people have added it up, your so-called investment in the form of loans to candidates and 527s is around forty-five million dollars just this year.”

Landon half smiled and looked away. “A drop in the bucket.”

Landon really did eat at the Flying J.

Gage found a booth while Landon glad-handed his way around the restaurant. He’d ordered for both of them by the time Landon sat down.

“Where’s the menu?”

“You don’t need one,” Gage said. “You already told me what you were having. Chicken fried steak.”

An outstretched hand attached to a plaid-covered arm injected itself into their conversation. Landon shook it, then scooted out of the booth. A skinny, five-foot-two-inch truck driver swept his John Deere cap off his head and offered Landon a toothy smile.

“Just had to shake your hand, Mr. President.”

Landon smiled back. “We’re still over a year away from the election and there’s no guarantee I’ll win. Just call me Landon.”

The driver fidgeted, flustered by the offer. “I’m not sure I can do that, Senator.” He slipped his cap back on. “Sorry I interrupted your conversation, but I just had to tell you how much I support you and them two nominees. I’m tired-” The driver jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the tables of truckers behind him. “We’re all tired of judges makin’ the laws. We elect you-all to make the laws and they’re supposed to follow them.”

“I agree with you…”

“Chuck.”

“I agree with you, Chuck. And I’ll do my best to get the nominees confirmed.”

“Thanks a lot, Senator.”

“Landon.”

“Okay.” The driver displayed a bashful smile. “Landon.”

Gage was still shaking his head when Landon slid to a stop on the bench seat.

“How many times do you go through that every day?” Gage asked.

“As many times as I can.”

Landon grabbed a napkin, then slid it under the table to wipe his hands.

“The funny thing is I always thought I was a solid person,” Landon said, “all of one piece. But every hand I shake is attached to someone who wants me to be something else.” He offered a weak smile. “Sometimes I feel like Frankenstein’s monster.” He glanced over at the tables of truckers. “These people don’t have a clue. Courts will always make law. There’s no such thing as strict construction or originalism, that’s why I never use the terms. The Founding Fathers never could’ve anticipated the Internet or stem cell research or nuclear weapons. The Court’s job is to maintain the national character as embodied in the Constitution, but applied to today’s problems, and sometimes that means restoring or even remaking the law when Congress or some lower court goes astray. Precedent and stare decisis can’t mean anything more than that or be any more restrictive than that. Not in the real world. That’s the only way the Court could have gotten to the Citizens United decision. It certainly wasn’t because prior justices were confused about what a person was. The world had changed since the Constitution was written and the Supreme Court-not the Founders-wanted to give corporations the same rights as persons so they could participate in the political process.”

Landon thumped the table with his finger. “The Boston Tea Party wasn’t just aimed at the Revenue Acts, but even more so at the all-powerful East India Company. The last thing the Founders would’ve done was grant corporations the personal rights of citizens. But times have changed and now we have statutory ways to control corporate lawlessness.” His eyes went vacant as though the thought was continuing to develop in his mind, then he said, “At the same time, a ruling not based on precedent or that the Court refuses to allow to be used as precedent subverts the legitimacy of the court. That’s why Bush v. Gore was a travesty-not because the decision was wrong-it was right-but because the court cowered in the face of its own reasoning and ruled that it could never be cited as precedent in any other case.”