Page 2 of The Senator's Rival

“Okay, yes, I get that, but there's also the question of whether that precedent is actually applicable in this situation,” Eleanor interrupted her brother’s impassioned rant. “I mean, the scope has changed so much since then, and?—”

“Well, if you want to be technical about it, there are ways to interpret the law so that the precedent still holds true,” Samuel argued. “It's all about the wording of the statutes, and?—”

“Good evening,” Francesca interjected with a chuckle as she took the empty chair between her arguing siblings. “Have these two been at it all night again?” she asked Marcus.

His pained expression answered her question with no words necessary. Marcus slumped back in his chair, holding his wine glass, looking half-exhausted and half-resigned. There was no way to interrupt Eleanor and Samuel when they got started on the subject of congressional law. Eleanor was a public defender, while Samuel was an assistant professor of law at Harvard. This meant that they both had a vested interest in the topic and could always find something new to debate.

“I see,” Francesca murmured, nodding her head toward Marcus and pursing her lips in sympathy.

“Great speech, Frankie,” Eleanor said, reaching over to squeeze her sister's arm. Eleanor was grinning broadly and looked sincerely proud. “A toast to our big sister, the next President of the United States!”

“Hear, hear!” the other two chimed in, clinking their glasses together in a chorus of cheers.

“We've still got a long way to go before that happens,” Francesca reminded them, though she couldn't help but smile and flush with delight at the thought. “There is a lot of hard work ahead of us.”

“And we'll be with you every step of the way,” Marcus assured her with a nod, patting her shoulder in a show of support. “What do you need from us, boss?” he teased.

“Just keep doing what you're doing,” Francesca told him with a small laugh, “and try not to cause any major scandals that might derail the campaign. Steer clear of drugs, affairs, and money laundering--or I'm going to have you all in prison by election day.”

They all laughed and launched into a discussion of the campaign, which lasted throughout the meal. Their family had grown up in the heart of politics, so they all had a solid grasp of how the system worked and how the game was played, as well as a clear understanding of public perception and how to navigate the potential minefields that came with being a family member of a high-ranking government figures. In truth, Francesca wasn't worried about any of them. Each sibling had dedicated his or her life to serving others and advocating for civil rights and political enfranchisement in one way or another. None of them were going to do anything to jeopardize her campaign.

It was comforting to have her family supporting her this closely. Despite growing up in the eye of the American political storm, the Thurstons were a tight-knit bunch who had always been there for one another, no matter what. With their parents so busy, the kids had they relied upon each other, supporting and building each other up as they pursued their ambitions. It was an incredible blessing to have such a strong foundation to fall back on.

“So, who do we think you'll be facing off against, Frankie?” Samuel asked, as they were eating dessert, a delicious chocolate mousse with vanilla ice cream.

“There's no question,” Marcus replied with an eye roll. He was a political analyst by trade, working at a leading network as a political correspondent. “Smith is a shoe-in. She's been ahead by a wide margin ever since Bennett dropped out of the race. Everyone else is too far behind to be serious competition.”

“Those embezzlement rumors came out at an awfully convenient time for her, didn't they?” Eleanor chimed in, arching an eyebrow. “Smith was falling behind because of that stuff about her not representing the interests of rural conservatives--then all of a sudden, her only competitor has been taking bribes from pharmaceutical companies?”

Francesca shrugged noncommittally at that. Tim Bennett had been a clear frontrunner—exactly the kind of traditional, establishment-type candidate with no fresh ideas or strategies. The kind of guy their opponents usually salivated over. And there was no doubt that Margot Smith was a snake in the grass. She had cut her teeth in Congress and done everything right from there on out. Smith had toed the party line and had avoided controversy by hiding in the background. She’d positioned herself as a reliable ally, while making just the right promises to win votes. But at this point, Smith was running practically unopposed. The timing of the revelations about Tim Bennett seemed a bit too serendipitous.

“Well, more shocking things have happened than a rich white conservative man engaging in quid pro quos with Wall Street,” Francesca pointed out wryly. “It certainly doesn't make Smith look good, but we can't be the ones to draw attention to it. We can't afford even the appearance of playing dirty, so we can’t back any conspiracy theories.”

“True enough,” Marcus agreed with a sigh, “but we need to be prepared for Smith to do whatever she needs to do, Frankie. Taking the high road is admirable and all, but this is a woman who'll stab you in the back, kick you when you're down, and spit on your corpse as you lie dying to ensure she comes out on top.”

Francesca laughed at that vivid description, leaning back in her chair as she swallowed a sip of wine. “I have nothing but the utmost respect for my opponent's ambition and ingenuity,” she declared theatrically, painting on her most winning, amicable politician smile. “She is a fierce woman and a worthy competitor.”

They all laughed at that, exchanging conspiratorial grins. It was a thrilling moment, imagining what might come of the election and everything it could lead to. After years of struggle and frustration, progress seemed to be on the rise. Francesca's campaign was emblematic of a shift toward a brighter future. Whomever she faced off against, Francesca would be prepared. She had faith in the power of democracy, the strength of her supporters, and the undeniable appeal of her message, and she was ready for the challenge awaiting her.

2

MARGOT

Margot Smith was sitting at the large wooden desk in front of the camera dressed all in white. The sun shone brightly behind her, and her position had been angled precisely so that the light formed a glowing aura—her immaculately highlighted golden brown waves framing her perfectly sculpted features. Margot’s fair skin seemed to glow, as if kissed by sunshine, and when she smiled, her full lips parted to display pearly-white teeth. Faint laugh lines marked the edges of her striking blue eyes, giving her face just enough character that her beauty wouldn’t be blindingly intimidating to the average viewer.

Some people might say she looked like an angel, and that she exuded wisdom, grace, and purity. However, Margot herself would never be so gauche as to say such a thing—that would be vapid and self-centered—but, you know, she'd heard people say that about her. And who was she to argue with the voice of the public?

“Good morning, America,” Margot announced in a honey-sweet tone tinged a faint, but not too distinct, Southern accent. She made direct eye contact with the viewers and maintained her steady gaze through the introduction. “My name is Margot Smith. It is an honor and a privilege to sit here today before you, on behalf of the great state of Virginia, as I accept my party's nomination to run for President of the United States. This election year, many of us have come to understand that there is a deeply-rooted disconnect between the concerns of the hard-working families who reside within our borders, and those policymakers whose decisions will drastically impact their futures. We feel, as one unified party, that it is time for a change. This November, we will offer a different choice for America. A choice for unity, and hope, and opportunity.”

Every word had been carefully selected and clearly enunciated, carrying a specific weight, pitch, and rhythm as it rang throughout the room. Everyone in the studio was focused on Margot Smith and the screen with her image, watching intently as the narrative she crafted unfolded. Even the people standing in the background were absolutely silent, knowing that a stray cough or a creaking footstep could throw off her entire delivery. Because this particular address needed to be perfect. In fact, everything Margot touched needed to be perfect, all the time. In this camp, there was no room for failure. If Margot’s campaign was going to succeed, she could allow for no mistakes.

Margot had rehearsed this speech hundreds of times, perfecting her intonation so she could hit just the right blend of sincerity and conviction, without being too stiff or formal. As Margot spoke, her body moved fluidly, shoulders back, hands open, and eyes shining with energy. Her media manager stood off to the side, giving subtle cues via nods of the head or hand movements. Just enough to keep Margot on track without disrupting her overall flow. Enough to ensure that the footage could be used to its full advantage.

The speech was fairly generic--a bunch of fluffy generalities mixed with a few strategic bits of pandering that had been calculated to appeal to certain subsets of the population. All this was delivered with a gravitas that made it seem profound and monumental. The intent had been to reach as many voters as possible without alienating anyone, so the speech was vague and general enough to apply to the masses--particularly to the undecided voters. The ones who were only tangentially interested in politics and could be swayed by a compelling thirty-second sound bite on the news. The type of people who could be won over by a well-timed television commercial, for instance, because they were distracted or not interested in paying close attention to politics.

There was no point in wasting time on the extreme liberals or socialists—there was no chance they'd vote for Margot’s party regardless of who represented them, especially in a presidential election, so convincing them was pointless. However, the hardline right-wingers and religious conservatives were already guaranteed to support the party's nominees. No need to focus too much time or money on wooing them excessively. Margot’s resources were better spent on persuadable independents and moderates who weren't firmly entrenched in their views, and whose votes were up for grabs. It was a delicate art form. She had to dance on the fence in order to win over people’s hearts and minds without offending folks so badly that they became detractors.

As Margot reached the end of her carefully prepared statement, she smiled her dazzling smile and said, “We are tremendously grateful for this opportunity to serve the American people. May God bless this country of ours, and may the American people remain free and prosperous forever. Thank you!”

---