“I liked her, and I appreciated her candor about the difficulties with her ex-husband. But we need to dig deeper and make sure we have the full story.”

“I’ve already done some additional digging,” Derek said, “and from what I was able to learn, her story adds up. The husband has been very public on his social media about his struggles, his regrets, his recovery. He owns the demise of their marriage and speaks of her respectfully and with admiration.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess,” Nick said. “Do we like her for VP?”

Terry hesitated for a second before he said, “I like her, and she certainly has the political and policy chops to step into the role. I just liked Sanford more.”

Hearing her name triggered the memory of Chanel No. 5 and his predictable reaction to the scent his mother had worn all her life.

“What I don’t understand,” Terry said, his tone measured, “is why you’re not enthusiastic about her.”

“It’s the dumbest thing,” Nick said, mortified to have to say the words out loud.

“What is?” Terry asked.

Nick took a deep breath and let it out. “She wears the same perfume as my mother. My associations with it are… negative, to say the least. Like I said… It’s dumb.”

“No,” Derek said firmly. “It isn’t. After watching your mother put you through the wringer for as long as I’ve known you, I completely understand.”

“Sam says we just ask her not to wear it around me, but I can’t imagine actually asking that of her.”

“We’ll ask it of her,” Terry said. “If you want her to be your vice president, we’ll tell her the truth about the perfume and ask if it’d be a problem for her not to wear it. She’ll say of course not. Problem solved.”

That something so complex to him could actually be so simple…

“You tell us what you want or need, Mr. President, and we’ll make it happen,” Terry said. “Even things that seem dumb to you.”

“Thank you, Terry. Thank you both for having my back in this.”

“Always, Mr. President,” Terry said as he and Derek stood to leave. “When you decide on who you want, let us know, and we’ll get that ball rolling.”

“Will do. Thanks again.”

They left him alone to think about the biggest decision he’d had to make in a long time. After spending half an hour reviewing the two finalists, their vetting documents and reviewing his personal impressions of each, Nick was no closer to a decision. So he did what he always did when he needed outside counsel. He called Graham O’Connor.

“Mr. President,” Graham said, his tone jubilant. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Nick smiled, delighted by the older man as usual. “I’m in need of some counsel from one of my senior advisers.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m down to two candidates for vice president.”

“Sanford and Henderson, right?”

“That’s right.”

“What’s your gut telling you?”

“Sanford is the more experienced DC insider, the conventional choice, but Henderson has her finger on the pulse of young people, which has been an area of interest for me, as you know.”

“Let’s dig into each one and figure this out.”

Nick sat back, put his feet up on the Resolute desk and got comfortable. If anyone could help him make the best possible decision, Graham could.

Upon leaving the White House, Sam went right back to Congress Heights, eager to speak to Calvin’s girlfriend Clarissa. In the rearview mirror, she noted Vernon and Jimmy following her in the black SUV that would be a constant presence in her life going forward. She told herself it was a small price to pay to give Nick peace of mind and herself some added security, but it rankled nonetheless.

She prided herself on her ability to take care of herself, but after the meeting, she had to acknowledge that even after chasing murderers for years, her imagination probably wasn’t vivid enough to conjure up all the scenarios the Secret Service dealt with every day. It was probably better for her mental health and anxiety level not to know that stuff.