The First Counsel by Brad Meltzer Page B

change. Squeezing our way toward the back of the room, Pam and I stand with the rest of the seatless associates and wait for Simon to arrive. Within a few minutes, he walks in and takes his seat at the head of the table.
    My eyes shoot to the floor as fast as they can.
    "What's wrong?" Pam asks me.
    "Nothing." My head's still down, but I steal a quick peek at Simon. All I want to know is whether he saw us last night. I assume it'll show on his face. To my surprise, it doesn't. If he's hiding something, you wouldn't know it. His salt-and-pepper hair is as perfectly combed as it was on Rock Creek Parkway. He doesn't look tired; his shoulders stand wide. As far as I can tell, he hasn't even glanced at me.
    "Are you sure you're okay?" Pam persists.
    "Yeah," I answer. I slowly pick my head up. That's when he does the most incredible thing of all. He looks right at me and smiles.
    "Is everything okay, Michael?" he asks.
    The entire room turns and waits for my answer. "Y-Yeah," I stammer. "Just waiting to get started."
    "Good, then let's get right to it." As Simon makes a few general announcements, I try my best to wipe the bewilderment from my face. If I hadn't looked him straight in the eyes, I wouldn't believe it. He didn't even take a second glance at the cut on my forehead. Whatever happened last night, Simon doesn't know I was there.
    "There's one last thing I want to comment on and then we can get to new business," Simon explains. "In this morning's Herald, an article made reference to a birthday party we threw for our favorite assistant to the President." All eyes shoot to Lawrence Lamb, who refuses to acknowledge even the slightest bit of attention. "The article went on to mention that the Vice President was noticeably absent from the invite list, and that the crowd was buzzing with rumors of why he wasn't there. Now, in case you've already forgotten, besides the President and the First Family, the only other people in that room were a handful of senior staffers and approximately fourteen representatives from this office." He rests his hands flat on the desk and lets the silence drive home his point.
    Without question, he has us. I may never look at him the same way again, but when he turns it on, Edgar Simon is an incredible lawyer. A master of saying it without saying it, he takes a quick scan of everyone in the room. "Whoever it was--it has to stop. They're not asking those questions to make us look good, and this close to reelection, you should all be smarter than that. Am I making myself clear?"
    Slowly, a grumble of acquiescence runs through the room. No one likes to be blamed for leaks. I stare at Simon knowing it's the least of his problems.
    "Great, then let's put it behind us and move on. Time for some new business. Around the room, starting with Zane."
    Looking up from his legal pad, Julian Zane smirks wide. It's the third meeting in a row that he's been called on first. Pathetic. As if any of us is even counting.
    "Still haggling with SEC reform," Julian says in a self-important tone that slaps us all across the face. "I'm meeting with the Speaker's counsel today to hit a few of the issues--he wants it so bad, he's skipping recess. After that, I think I'll be ready to present the decision memo."
    I cringe as Julian blurts his last few syllables. The decision memo is our office's official policy recommendation on an issue. And while we do the research and writing for it, the finished product is usually presented to the President by Simon. Every once in a while, we get to do the presentation too. "Mr. President, here's what we're looking at . . ." It's the ultimate White House carrot--and something I've been waiting two years for.
    Last week, Simon announced that Julian was presenting. It's no longer news. Still, Julian can't help but mention it.
    Shading his eyes as he checks his schedule, Simon reveals the same silhouette I saw in his car. I try to bury it, but I can't. All I see is that forty grand--ten of which