2030_ The Real Story of What Happens to America - Albert Brooks [46]
“What?” the President asked.
“Maybe we don’t fix it. Maybe it returns to the way it was before they built it up.”
“You’re kidding, right? You want fifteen million people to roam around orange fields? That’s a joke, right?”
“No, sir. I didn’t mean that. But maybe we relocate people to other states, and return to an era of a much smaller population out West with far fewer structures. Something like that.”
“Good, Morton,” the President said. “Can you take a hundred thousand people on your farm?” Everyone laughed except Spiller. He looked away. He was angry, but certainly was not going to show it in front of the others.
“I’m just trying to help, sir.”
“I understand,” the President said, “but we can’t move millions and millions of people and build them homes and provide a life for them. Wouldn’t that cost the same as rebuilding the city?”
“I don’t know, sir. I haven’t run those numbers.”
“Well, run them if you like, but I think we have to concentrate on how to restore Los Angeles. Our other major cities are crowded enough and we’re not going to send everyone to a desert island, so let’s start thinking of ways to rebuild. Maybe there are ways to do it for less, or use some kind of new construction or something we’re not thinking about at this moment. John’s got the best architectural minds in the country working on this. How’s that going?”
“They need more money, sir.”
“Of course they do.” Bernstein got up. “Listen, I wanted to talk more about the world currency but I don’t think today is the best time. Let’s break for now. Los Angeles will remain the top priority. We need more ideas. From everyone. Morton, come to the Oval Office for a minute, please.”
And with that the President left the room. Spiller walked over to John Van Dyke. “What’s this about?”
“I don’t know. Believe it or not, he actually makes decisions on his own.”
When Spiller walked into the Oval Office, the President was seated on the couch. “Have a seat,” Bernstein said. “Morton, you’re a good man, but I don’t want to do the farm thing anymore.” Morton knew instantly what the President meant, but acted as if he didn’t.
“The farm thing?”
“I need my secretary of the Treasury here, permanently. A vacation now and then is fine, but four months away is too much. It’s setting a bad example.”
“Well, Mr. President, you did make the agreement as part of bringing me on.”
“I did,” the President said, “but I don’t want to anymore.”
“Well, sir, I have to talk to my family. May I have a few days to think about it?”
“No. We are in a serious crisis and I need people here who are putting the country first.”
“That’s not fair, sir. I love this country.”
“And you should. You have more money than God. But possibly you are in a period of your life where your farm beckons you, and that’s okay. But I need twenty-four seven.”
“I’ve always given you that, sir.”
“I need twenty-four seven here, in Washington.”
“So you want me to resign?”
“I want you to make a decision now.”
“I can’t do that, sir.”
“I know,” the President said. “I’ll tell you what, take two hours. You know what’s ahead for us. Only stay if you think you can run another marathon in your life. I will understand if you can’t. And if you leave, you and John will craft something that sounds reasonable. I don’t want people to get more scared about their money than they already are.”
“I understand. I’ll make my decision before dinner.”
“Thank you, Morton.”
* * *
As Shen Li continued to watch the news of the devastation in Los Angeles, he was amazed that the nation that had for so long been the leader in everything now looked like it was handling one of nature’s worst disasters as if it were a third-world country. Seeing people lining up for food and medical care, it looked to him like a disorganized version of what he did much better. Being a concerned citizen of the world and someone who also loved making money, Li wondered how he could get involved in this. Branch out, so to speak.
The one area where Li thought