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“What is it? What happened?”

“Nate Cass called me. Your mother passed away last night.”

The President simply did not know how to react. Jumping up and down was not an option. But in that one moment a huge problem had just been lifted. He looked at Susanna. He wanted to kiss her. He did love her. She had just taken care of the biggest problem in his life. And she’d done it perfectly. No one else could have accomplished it. But he decided to display no emotion. He thanked her as if she had told him some Treasury news and said he wanted to be alone.

“If you need anything else, Mr. President, please let me know.”

“I will. Please tell John Van Dyke. He will prepare something for the press. Cass told you she died peacefully?”

“In her sleep. As peaceful as could be.”

“Thank you, Susanna. I’ll speak to you later.”

Susanna left the office. The President was in emotional overload. He looked at the time. It was two-thirty in the afternoon. He hadn’t had a drink before five o’clock in years, but today was going to be an exception. He pressed the intercom. “Get me a scotch and water.”

And as he waited for his drink, he knew he needed to patch things up with Betsy. He would tell her he loved her and that he was overworked, and sometimes he got too dependent on people and Susanna was one of those people. She would have to understand. Betsy was a key reason why he had been elected president and he needed her. But he needed both of them. Why was that wrong? He was the president of the United States, for God’s sake. If anyone was entitled to more than one woman, he was.

* * *

Lee Dong Wo, the grand architect of the new Los Angeles, and Shen Li, the new health minister, were not just good friends but had become a regular duo at gatherings, restaurants, and important meetings in the new city. They were like rock stars, photographed everywhere they went and written about daily.

Lee Dong was married and brought his wife and one child with him. They loved it. They were treated well and found the climate in Los Angeles, though it was hotter than in previous years, more favorable than their home in China.

Shen Li was still a bachelor. Forty years old and considered fairly good-looking, Li stood about five feet nine inches. He was a fit one hundred and fifty pounds, and one would describe him as friendly-looking. He smiled easily and often. He exercised every other day on one of the new virtual treadmills that rich people had in their homes and others could afford only at a gym. These treadmills were surrounded by moving scenery, so you could choose a mountain run, a run in the city, a run by the beach, whatever you wanted, and for the duration of your workout you felt like you were in that location. Scenery moved by you at any speed you chose, from a slow walk to a fast sprint, and when you added the wind, the sounds, and the smells, the experience was awesome.

Li had one in his temporary home in Santa Monica, a small house two blocks from the beach. The house had been severely damaged in the quake, but he had his men rebuild it quickly. His eventual home in the new city was going to be built to his specifications from the ground up, but for now, this would do.

He always had to laugh. Here he was two blocks from the ocean and he chose the treadmill “beach” setting instead. Of course, there were reasons for that. The real beach had an odor Li did not like. It was a combination of smells he couldn’t really identify, something like fishy and trashy. Some people were sensitive to it, others weren’t, but he couldn’t stand it. So he ran on the perfect beach on his treadmill. He kept in shape, he dressed well, he was famous, and he was a catch.

Friends tried to set him up when he got to Los Angeles, but he was always too occupied with the great task ahead. He had dinner with a few different women and had sex with one of them, but it didn’t amount to anything. The same way many American men liked Asian women, Li loved Americans. They were exotic to him. And he didn’t go for the blondes. He’d thought