Chapter 20: Spring Planting

My time with the Governor was quietly seismic. Though no one said anything, it was clear the ground had shifted. On one side of things, FD Consulting was soon turning down business. I hired a full-time secretary and a 24-hour message service. It still was not enough. My reputation with Paroles and Pardons soon expanded into sentencing issues and similar criminal law concerns. A law firm contacted me about a bill with an upcoming vote.

In case it was not obvious, legislatures pass laws. Representatives, Senators and interest groups need lawyers to give advice about what wording will work best. For this reason, most lobbyists are either from a law firm or are hired to represent one. I set up my shingle as a consulting firm, but it could not last. The question was exactly how to take the plunge into advocacy. When I was first openly approached, I decided I needed time with my own adviser and my guru, Sean and Sheila.

I contacted the law firm, asking for permission to talk to my family in New Jersey. There was no non-disclosure agreement, but manners are important. As long as it stayed in New Jersey, they were willing. The trip down was a trial. A late winter storm had left mud and slush everywhere. I took the Toyota and vowed to get a decent second car before I came back. Beacon House could have the beater.

I was so glad to turn into the gate, I almost did not notice the lights lining the drive. At the wedding, we had purchased dozens of battery-powered LED lights, in several colors. A paper bag and some sand turned the lights into luminaries. I think Sheila must have liked the idea because little lights were everywhere.

Sean met me at the garage, which meant Sheila was reluctant to bring the baby. That was cool. Protectiveness runs in the family. Sean gave me a big hug, then signaled for a security tech to help with the bags. I snorted as I recalled my attitude of two years before, when no one but me touched my bags. Live and learn.

As expected, Sheila and Christine were in the nursery. Not surprisingly, Sheila was nursing the baby. Christine was carefully not hovering. In a sense, it was comical, but her devotion was fierce. Do not fuck with Christine's people. Just don't.

It was about six weeks since I had last seen Cindy. I could see she had grown. At the christening, she had been tiny, less than five pounds. When I left in August, she was still under eight pounds. At Christmas, she was much bigger. Sean told me the first few months had been a bit slow, but she made up for the growth during the fall. Two weeks before her birthday, she was over twelve pounds and growing at over a pound a month. Everyone was breathing a bit easier.

The feeding did not take long. Sheila passed the baby to Christine. Cindy's open mouth showed at least two teeth. Recalling my nipple piercing, I winced. Knowing both Sheila and Sean, this had to be a conscious choice. I wondered how long they planned to continue, but I was not about to ask. Instead, I inquired whether Cindy could eat solid food yet. Sheila smiled. Sean said she would eat mashed carrots and loved avocado. Like mother, like daughter.

Cindy, which was her legal name, was a very alert baby. One test I knew was pulling a bead through a tube. Cindy's eyes would track the position of the bead from one end to another. For under a year, that was very good. I was convinced that she would be at least normal when it came time for school. She was also adorably cute. I had mixed feelings about that. On one hand, I felt an urge to praise her. On the other, I could not forget my own childhood.

In the end, I decided to call on Dr. Douglas. I contacted her office and said I would drop by for a courtesy visit. She made a couple of minutes available, PhD to PhD. The short version was that she would call me if Sean and/or Sheila developed a serious case of denial. Otherwise, she confirmed that Cindy was a well adjust baby, working on toddler.

Mollified, I went back to the Residence and packed for New Hampshire. I think I mentioned that Sheila was a bit telepathic. She came to my room, carrying a large box. It was full of things from the "attic", meaning any of the many storage rooms around the house. The highlight of the list was a case of jewelry. Nothing was costume, but there were also no highly valuable stones. Rather these were ordinary pendants, cameos and brooches.

In sum, this was the everyday jewelry of my great-grandmothers. One smaller box contained a number of hairpins and combs, suitable for styles a hundred years ago. Silk scarves and wool shawls were much of the remainder. Winters in New Jersey were mild compared to what I was used to. On E-bay, I could get several thousand for the lot, but not tens of thousand. That changed with a single small box.

The box was custom made and the top said Tiffany, which gave me some warning. It was a set of custom designed jewelry. There were four pieces, diamonds and rubies set in finely worked gold—two earrings, with pendant teardrop rubies, a diamond and ruby pendant necklace and a diamond and ruby bracelet. The gold weighed, at least, half a pound, which was the least of the value. Stamped on the back of the necklace were the initials LCT, for Louis Comfort Tiffany.

Also in the box was a piece of paper that may have doubled the value. It was a Tiffany and Company bill of sale, detailing the four pieces. It was written to my great-grandmother Blanche Sparks, dated 11 June 1898, for $45,000, signed Charles L. Tiffany, Proprietor. Charles Lewis Tiffany founded the firm and ran it til his death in 1902.

Simple inflation would put that at well over $1,000,000. Because it was well authenticated Tiffany, I suspect Sean would get more than twice that at auction. The box should be carried in a Brinks truck, but Sheila treated it like a nice tennis bracelet.

Knowing Sheila, I expected there would be more. Sometimes being smart is good. Sheila smiled as she produced another box, also from Tiffany. The bill in this one was for $35,000. It was a very good reproduction, using manufactured gemstones, though the gold was still gold. Also included was a thumb drive.

What do you do for something like that? The set was arguably already mine. The real gift was the care it had taken to research the provenience. I had not looked at the thumb drive, but I knew it would contain dozens of images and documents detailing the history of the jewels—measured pictures, newspaper photographs, safety deposit box records, plus the details on every graded gem in the set.

I hugged Sheila close and promised her daughter could borrow them when she was old enough to understand. Then we set about dressing for a portrait, with me wearing the real jewels and Sheila wearing the new set. On a whim, I insisted on another portrait of Christine holding the necklace over Cindy. You can see that one on my desk in Washington.

I gave the real jewels and bill of sale back to Sheila. Security could put them in suitable storage. I drove back to New Hampshire. Though I had gone home to discuss the offer from the law firm, somehow it never came up. Instead, Sheila showed me how much I was worth to the family. Marking your reference points is never a bad thing. I asked for a meeting with the head of the law firm.

It was Monday at lunch. The Senior partners were named Martin Pyle and Sandra Piatkowski. Martin was at least seventy, so Sandra probably was the day to day manager. The weather was nasty, so I wore my trademark seal coat over a wool St. Johns suit and a Burberry silk top. I was also wearing the full reproduction set of jewelry. The effect on Ms. Piatkowski was worth every penny.

For lunch, I declined soup, because of the silk top. I had a lettuce wrapped steak sandwich, with beans and baby carrots. She had the sandwich with ratatouille and broccoli. I hate broccoli, but the ratatouille looked good. Point for her. Mr. Pyle had French dip, extra cheese, with fries and a pickle. Right. Obviously, his advanced age was not because of a lifetime of healthy eating.

We discussed everything but politics for fifteen minutes. As a Yankees and Giants fan, I was at a disadvantage, but sports did not really count. The first break came when Ms. Piatkowski asked about the necklace. I told her it was Tiffany, a reproduction of a 19th-century set. She asked me if I knew who owned the original. Too easy. I shrugged and said they were too valuable for casual wear. After a heartbeat, she caught the unspoken message.

To give her due credit, when I sandbagged her on the jewelry, Ms. Piatkowski stopped to do a full reset. Wearing Burberry and St. Johns, with Tiffany made knock-offs, is one thing. Owning the original Tiffany is something else. She dipped her head, acknowledging the point.

She said, "You're good. I have never had someone say they had hidden depth quite so well. Stories of you and the Governor make more sense. The question is whether we can work together. So far, no one is even sure what party you represent."

I answered, "Thank you. That's high praise from a professional of your stature. The answer is another question. Work together on what?"

That was how I came to front for a Republican highway bill. The bill morphed into an amendment, which was tied to an omnibus finance bill and passed. That counted as a win in lobbying circles. My next project fared less well. It was a variant on the so called Castle Doctrine. The bill never made it out of committee. I turned down two more Republican initiatives, waiting for the right one.

New Hampshire is unusual in that neither Democrats or Republicans dominate. While the state had only voted Republican in the Presidential election once since the 1980s, it was for George W. Bush, when he squeaked out the 2000 election. Four years later, New Hampshire voted for next door neighbor John Kerry, who was the only Presidential loser since 1976. Politically, the state is close to the balance of the country. Believe me, the residents are aware of the fact.