The House committee room buzzed with a languid, self-assured confidence. Arthur Kenwood sat in his usual place in the front row, the picture of a man who knew the outcome of the game before it began. He had personally overseen the drafting of the "oversight commission" amendment and had received assurances from a majority of the committee members that it would pass with bipartisan support. Today was not a battle; it was a formality, a quiet consolidation of his victory.
The committee chairman, a portly congressman from Florida whose campaigns were heavily funded by Kenwood's clients, brought the session to order. "The committee will now consider the amendment to HR-5801, the Patriot Push Act, establishing the Federal Commission for Secure Supply Chains. I recognize the gentlewoman from Michigan, Ms. Hayes, for any comments."
Anna Hayes rose, her expression calm and composed. She looked out at the committee members, many of whom were scrolling through their phones, their attention already elsewhere.
"Thank you, Mr. Chairman," she began, her voice clear and steady. The room quieted slightly, curious to see how the President's chosen champion would handle her inevitable defeat.
"I want to begin by thanking my colleagues on both sides of the aisle, and their expert advisors, for this thoughtful and prudent addition to the bill," she said.
A wave of surprise rippled through the room. Kenwood allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The freshman congresswoman was folding, just as he had predicted.
"The President agrees wholeheartedly," Hayes continued, her voice radiating sincerity, "that a project of this magnitude requires the highest standard of fiscal responsibility. Rigorous oversight is not just welcome; it is paramount to the success of the Patriot Push Act. This amendment provides a strong framework for that oversight."
She had them. They were disarmed, leaning back in their chairs, their victory assured.
"In fact," Hayes said, her tone brightening, "in the spirit of ensuring that this commission is truly above reproach, I'd like to propose a simple, one-sentence addition to the text. A friendly clarification, if you will, to guarantee its integrity in the eyes of the American people."
The chairman, feeling magnanimous in his victory, gestured for her to proceed. "The gentlewoman may continue."
Hayes picked up a sheet of paper from her lectern. "Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I move to add the following sentence to the end of Section 3, paragraph B of the amendment."
She took a breath and read the words the President had dictated to her, her voice ringing through the silent room.
"Furthermore, to prevent any appearance of a conflict of interest, no individual appointed to this commission, nor any parent company, subsidiary, or affiliate organization that they have been employed by or consulted for within the preceding ten years, shall be eligible to receive any grants, loans, or tax credits disbursed by this commission."
A beat of silence hung in the room, pure and absolute. Then, you could see the words ripple across the dais. The Chairman, who had been leaning back in his chair, slowly sat bolt upright. His eyes, which had been half-closed with boredom, were now wide, scanning the text of the counter-amendment as if it were written in a foreign language. He looked at the original amendment, then back at the new sentence. A vein began to throb in his temple. The friendly smile on his face had dissolved, replaced by the slack-jawed look of a man who realized he had just enthusiastically endorsed his own public execution.
The congressmen who supported the original amendment were now trapped. If they voted against Hayes's "clarification," they would be publicly voting in favor of conflicts of interest.
In the Oval Office, he watched the chaos unfold on the monitor. A quiet, cold smile touched his lips as he watched the system, his true enemy, turn on itself.
"They can't vote no," Miles Vance whispered, his voice filled with an almost religious awe. "My God. You've forced them to publicly endorse ethics or expose themselves as corrupt. They have no choice."
This is how you shape the world, he thought, the idea resonating with the cold logic of a historical absolute. Not by demanding obedience, but by creating conditions in which the only logical course of action is the one you have already determined.
The camera on the live feed zoomed in on Arthur Kenwood. The architect of the trap was now caught in a much better one. The smile was gone. The confidence was gone. His face was a mask of cold, reptilian fury. This was the second time he had been publicly and comprehensively outmaneuvered by a President who refused to play by the established rules. This was no longer just business. It was personal.
Without a word, Kenwood stood up, turned his back on the pandemonium of the committee room, and walked out.
Miles saw the lobbyist's abrupt exit. "He's not going to try to amend the bill again, is he?"
He turned his gaze from the screen, his eyes distant, already focused on the next, inevitable battlefield.
"No, Miles. He's not," he said. "He's figured out that he can't win a war of policy against us. So he's going to stop attacking the policy."
He paused, letting his Chief of Staff absorb the chilling implication.
"He's going to start attacking the President."