I looked at him curiously at that. “He doesn’t? Isn’t that, like, a requirement?”
He shrugged. “Eh. Not really, but residency is kind of questionable in a lot of things. He mostly lives in Alexandria, Virginia, and has an apartment in Cockeysville, just inside the limit. He’s never there, but it allows him to claim he lives here. You actually live here, full time, year round!”
“Speaking of money, how much is this going to cost me?” I asked.
That got me a few stares. “Well, under normal circumstances, I would say at least a half mill, but with what Stewart is going to pull, double that. If we don’t raise one million dollars, we won’t have a chance,” answered Brewster.
I shrugged at that. “Okay. I assume we need to set up some kind of a bank account. Can I just start with the half million, or do I need to deposit the entire amount up front?” I asked.
You could have heard a pin drop at that. Miller’s jaw dropped to the floor, and the locals simply stared in disbelief. It was McRiley who answered. “You are going to pay for the campaign?!”
“Uh, yeah, why not? Is that illegal or something?” Maybe this violated some sort of campaign finance rule, but I didn’t think so.
“Oh my God! No, it’s not illegal, it’s just damn near unheard of! You need to collect campaign contributions!” he replied.
“Uh, huh. Let me make sure I have that straight. I am going to spend the next year of my life selling my soul to whoever wants to cough up some cash. Then, after I get elected, I promise to vote their way so they keep coughing up cash. That’s the way it works, right?”
“Well, yeah! Haven’t you heard, the definition of a good politician is one who stays bought!” he replied.
“You’re almost as cynical as I am. I like that,” I told him. “That’s how Stewart made his money, isn’t it? Campaign contributions, and some of it stuck to his fingers, right?”
The others nodded. Destrier commented, “It’s not quite as bald as that, but in effect, yes. He’s a man of the people, don’t you know?”
John added, “It’s illegal now, but at one time, any money you raised above what the campaign cost you could keep as income. That’s really sticking to your fingers!”
Rich Miller brought us back on track. “If you don’t take campaign contributions, but pay for a campaign out of pocket, you’ll be accused of buying the election.”
“Flip that around,” I said. “Instead say that I can’t be bought! What campaign contributor could possibly afford to buy my vote, on anything?”
“Holy Christ!” he muttered to himself. I got the feeling that Mister Miller was starting to wonder at the wisdom of putting me on this path. I wasn’t feeling all that sympathetic to him.
“Let’s table that for the moment. We can figure a way to handle campaign contributions. Maybe we can funnel them directly to the RNC,” added McRiley. The RNC, the Republican National Committee, was always looking for money. They often provided extra funding above and beyond what an individual could raise on his own, and my understanding was that a candidate could divert contributions the other way as well. Some of the big name politicians, the ones who could command top donations, but were assured of re-election, often sent money to the national organization, and in return got lots of political favors they could call on in the future. Miller’s eyes gleamed at the thought of contributions going to the RNC. That would probably earn him some Brownie points, also.
“That would be best,” commented Destrier. “By taking campaign cash, you are promising the contributors that they will have your ear, regardless of whether you agree with them or not. You’re going to need their support.”
Brewster chimed in, “You’re in investments. When they make a contribution, they are buying shares in Carl Buckman, Politician, Inc. They’re going to want you to succeed so that their investment pays off. After you get their money, then you ask them for their time, which is even more important.”
Miller said, “You ever heard the line about grabbing them by their balls and their hearts and minds will follow? That’s for amateurs. Grab them by their wallets and their hearts and minds will follow!”
I nodded in understanding. “That makes sense. I never thought that through. I’ve got a lot to learn, don’t I?”
“You do, so be a quick study,” said John, which got a few chuckles around the room.
McRiley wanted us to get back to the topic of my brother. “Just how bad is the murderer part of the equation going to be?” he asked.
“Bad enough. Are you old enough to remember it? This was six years ago, back in 1983. What grade were you in then?” I asked.
“Droll, very droll,” he responded. “I was in law school at the time, Yale, if you must know.”
“Really? You know what you have when you bury a lawyer in the sand up to his neck?” I asked.
“Yeah — a good start. Are we going to trade lawyer jokes the rest of the day? Trust me, I’ve heard them all!” he riposted, and quickly, too.
“Carl, before you piss off the other five people in the room, all of whom are lawyers by the way, why don’t you go over what happened. Get it out in the open, right here and now. I was there at the time, but they weren’t, and they need to hear it from your side, because you’re right, we will surely hear it from the other side,” said John.
We broke for a bit and I got my assistant to bring in some coffee, and some tea for me. After we were all settled around the table again, I said, “Okay, this is going to take a bit of time, but hear me out. John knows all about this. He’s been my lawyer since I was a kid, and I do mean kid. I’ve known him since I was 13.” I pointed at Brewster. “You don’t know about this, though, right?”
“I’ve read your bio. The best one I found was the one from a few years ago in Fortune magazine. After lunch, we’ll be reviewing that. Once we announce your name, you can guarantee that Stewart’s team will do the same.”
I nodded and turned to the others. “You guys know about this?”
Both Bob and Jack admitted to seeing it in the papers and on the television back when it happened. Miller didn’t know anything more than what was in that magazine bio McRiley was referring to.
“Okay. Well, let me just start out by saying that if you look up dysfunctional in the dictionary, you’ll see a picture of my family there,” I started. It took me about fifteen minutes to take the others through my family, specifically related to the fact that my brother was a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic and my mother was depressive, which John and I had found out through the security agency we used.
Then I got to Hamilton’s final meltdown. “So, anyway, that’s just the background. After I got out of the Army, I moved back home and John and I, and the others, started the company. That was in ’82. I don’t think my family even knew I was back in town. We met again in the spring of ’83, when my sister invited us to her college graduation. Hamilton freaked out, big time, and he and Mom and Dad got into it. Dad threw the pair of them out, and my mother and Hamilton ended up in an apartment in Towson. Hamilton figured it was all my fault, and decided to go after my wife and son, and Charlie wasn’t even two yet. Over the next few months he began stalking Marilyn, vandalized her car repeatedly, and even tried to firebomb the house.”
“Couldn’t you get the police involved?” asked Miller.
“Oh, they were involved, all right. We got them involved almost immediately. They ended up checking alibis on almost a hundred people, but Hamilton slipped through it all,” said John.
“Right. By then we had a security company bodyguarding Marilyn and our son, and I sent them away. I stayed home, and stayed in the house with my old Army pistol, in the hopes that whoever was doing this would make another run at us, and he did. We had no idea it was going to be my brother, but he broke in one day with a gigantic Bowie knife, and when he found it was me, and not my family, decided to attack me instead. I had to shoot him.”