Thanks to the Memorial Day weekend, there were no consultations booked today. Since I wouldn’t have to get up early this morning, Cerise and I took the opportunity to stay out nightclub hopping in Adams Morgan until the bars closed. She was still in dream land at ten this morning, but I woke up at nine-fifteen and couldn’t go back to sleep.
It’s not like I didn’t have plenty to do, of course. There were loads of work to catch up on in my home office downstairs. It was there, not five minutes after I got started, that my cat Twinkle sidled in and hopped up onto my lap, purring contentedly. And not fifteen minutes after that, while I was in the midst of working on tweaking a macro-econometric model of Portugal, Veronica walked in.
“Tom, dear,” she opened with a smile, “have you got a minute?”
Twinkle’s ears pricked up. “Silly,” she said, jumping down from my lap and strutting out of the room, her tail in the air. “Silly Veronica.”
“You know,” Veronica remarked as Twinkle disappeared into the hallway, “sometimes, the noises that cat makes sound… almost human.”
“Well,” I replied, “she certainly doesn’t get much contact with other cats. I’m sure she thinks of herself as a person.”
“Hmph,” Veronica responded as she curled up in a leather upholstered Biedermeir bergere, “I’m pretty sure she thinks of me as an automatic cat-petting machine.”
“Twinkle,” I explained, “like all house cats, firmly believes that her people should make themselves useful. Otherwise, what’s the point in having us around? So, what’s up?”
“Tom,” Veronica purred, “I was just wondering if you could arrange for me to meet… John Edwards?”
“Yes,” I vouched, “I could do that. But why?”
“Because,” she explained, “I’ve been reading about how… nice he was to Rielle Hunter, and I thought maybe it would be a good idea to get to know him.”
“I wouldn’t call knocking her up and then denying the baby particularly nice,” I opined.
“Oh,” Veronica declared in a dismissive tone, “I’m sure he just did that to spare his wife’s feelings.”
“How very thoughtful of him,” I shot back. “I also understand he claims he only cheated on her when her terminal cancer was in remission. There’s a true gentleman if I’ve ever heard of one.”
“Oh, Tom,” she sighed, “you’re well-known, but you’re not famous. You’re well-off, but you’re not really rich. And you’re respected, but you’re not powerful. You’re just a successful Washington policy consultant. You don’t know what it is to be someone like John Edwards.”
“And you do?” I demanded.
“Tom, since you and I were an item back in college, I’ve… gotten to know… many such men,” Veronica reminded me. “They live different lives, Tom. They have special needs.”
“You make being a wealthy trial lawyer, a United States senator and running as the Democratic candidate for the vice-presidency sound like disabilities,” I quipped. “And my guess is, what you think is nice about John Edwards is the private jets, fancy vacations, and clandestine mansions he provided for Rielle.”
“I’d say,” Veronica countered, “they clearly demonstrate that he knows how to express affection.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “With his wallet?”
“Believe me,” Veronica confidently asserted, “any woman of the world will tell you – men have trouble expressing their feelings in any manner at all, and expressing them with money is the easiest and best way for most of them to do it.”
“Look,” I reasoned, “John Edwards has three children from his marriage and another one by Rielle. Sure, he’s got a huge pile of scratch, but I think that among a group like those claimants, it’s basically all spoken for.”
“Not necessarily,” Veronica objected. “He’s a brilliant lawyer. If he wants to… free up funds… for a new soul mate…”
“With all due respect for your feminine wiles,” I cautioned, “as far as the near future is concerned, I think John Edwards is much more likely to acquire a new cell mate.”
“Ah, yes,” Veronica pouted. “I also wanted to ask you about that stuff. How much trouble is he actually in, anyhow?”
“Enough to have the US Attorney convene a federal grand jury,” I informed her. “Unless he and his lawyers can arrange a suitable plea bargain, it’s considered likely Edwards will be indicted on felony charges sometime next week.”
Veronica knit her brow and pitched a fetching little frown to go with it. “That poor man. What’s all the fuss about?”
“Well,” I related, “back in 2007, Edwards decided to free up some funds for his soul mate Rielle Hunter by talking the aging widow of Paul Mellon, the billionaire banker, into giving him a few hundred thousand dollars – as a gift, mind you, not as a campaign contribution. But it seems that Edwards chose to avoid approaching Mrs. Mellon himself. Instead, he had a campaign aide, a fellow named Andrew Young, meet with her. Furthermore, she made the checks out to Young, not Edwards. Then, according to the US Attorney, anyway, Edwards used his campaign organization in the person of Fred Baron, the Edwards campaign finance chairman, to channel the money into supporting Rielle.”
“Okay,” Veronica inquired, “this Andrew Young guy talked a rich widow into giving John Edwards some money and somebody who just happened to be John’s campaign finance manager spent that money on Rielle. So what? How does this get the US Attorney’s shorts in a twist?”
“Being a Republican appointed by George W. Bush probably didn’t hurt,” I allowed. “George Holding, US Attorney for the Eastern District of North Carolina, began investigating Edwards for these shenanigans back in 2007. When Obama was elected President, the North Carolina senators asked him to keep Holding in his position and not appoint a Democrat replacement – primarily so Holding could finish this particular investigation. The Obama Administration agreed. So it’s a safe bet that US Attorney Holding is determined to leave office with John Edward’s scalp hanging from his belt.”
“I don’t understand,” Veronica coyly protested. “I mean, over here, we have poor John Edwards with a mistress he has to keep secret, and over here we have that nice Mrs. Mellon, who is more than happy to give John a few hundred grand without asking why. None of that sounds illegal to me. What’s the problem?”
“The Department of Justice,” I answered, “has a problem with Edwards using his campaign organization and a couple of its key staff members to arrange for the money to be used to ensure that Rielle lived the lifestyle to which she wished to become accustomed. The US Attorney says that money was not a gift, it was a campaign contribution, and funneling those funds into a luxurious standard of living for Edward’s secret mistress amounts to a serious violation of federal campaign finance laws.”
“Certainly,” Veronica protested, “they could ask Mrs. Mellon about it, couldn’t they? Wouldn’t she testify that the money was definitely a gift and she never intended it for use in obtaining public office for John?
“Mrs. Mellon,” I noted, “is over one hundred years old. If I were an assistant US attorney interviewing her, I’m not sure I’d be convinced she didn’t think she was giving the money to the Jonathan Edwards Center for Theology at Yale.”
“Then a how about this Fred Baron guy?” Veronica insisted. “You said he’s the one who actually spent the money. Can’t he testify to the federal grand jury that the cash went straight from Mrs. Mellon’s bank account right into jets, travel, clothes, cars and mansions for Rielle Hunter?”
“Mr. Baron,” I sadly noted, “died in 2008.”
“I guess,” Veronica shrugged, “he can’t help being dead. How about that campaign aide, Andrew Young? Couldn’t he tell the grand jury that dear, sweet John would never, ever condone or engage in anything illegal? Sure, maybe he’d do some things that he might not be proud of, but he’d never break the law, would he? After all, he’s an attorney!”
“Um… yes… Andrew Young,” I pondered. “Despite the fact that he, himself, was married with three children, Young nevertheless covered for Edwards by falsely claiming paternity of Hunter’s child, back in December, 2007. Then, in 2010, when Hunter sued Young to force him to turn over a sex tape of her and Edwards that Young had made, Young – and his wife – were found in contempt of court for not producing it. So maybe the Andrew Young from 2009 might have done what you’re talking about. But the Andrew Young from 2011 has written a book entitled, ‘The Politician: An Insider’s Account of John Edwards’s Pursuit of the Presidency and the Scandal That Brought Him Down,’ worked out deal for a motion picture based on that book with Aaron Sorkin…”
“Aaron Sorkin!” Veronica interjected. “How about that? My last ex-husband – the one who had that house in Malibu where I was living when it burned down – he introduced me to Aaron once. Small world, isn’t it?”
“It’s definitely,” I allowed, “not big enough at times. So, as I was saying, right now, Andrew Young is going to be the government’s star witness against John Edwards.”
“Oh… well…” Veronica pursed her lips gravely. “That’s hardly a decent way for the trusted aide of someone like John Edwards to behave, is it?”
“Perhaps,” I suggested, “you should read his book. It might change your mind.”
“No,” she disagreed, “I don’t think so. Can you arrange for me to meet John, then?”
“Yes,” I conceded. “However – I hate to mention this – but as of next Tuesday, you will be four months behind on your room mate fees here. Were you contemplating moving out, perhaps?”
“Oh, Tom,” she blushed. “I’m so sorry, it just slipped my mind, you know? Can I write you a check next week?”
“That would be good,” I asserted.
“After,” she breathed excitedly, “I meet John Edwards, of course! It seems to me that with all this going on – the accusations, the betrayals, the gawking media – John must be in an extremely… vulnerable place right now.”
“And that,” I commented, “is exactly where you like them.”