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room in the West Wing.
    Chloe watched from her living room, alone.
    "My fellow Americans," the president said into the camera. "A little less than one week ago this country suffered a terrible loss."
    Chloe was no longer among Washington's elite, no longer on anyone's list of rising journalistic stars. As a college student at Columbia she'd dreamed of becoming a White House correspondent. Snagging a coveted White House internship with the Keyes administration in the spring of her senior year had made that long-term career goal seem entirely achievable. Chloe had certainly shown the required dedication. Some interns arrived at 9:00 A . M ., went to lunch at noon, and headed out to see the sights at 5:00 P . M . Chloe was there before 8:00 A . M ., took lunch in the cafeteria when she could get it, and left when the rest of the office staff left, usually around 8:00 P . M . Her assignment was to the White House press office, where she knew a late night lay ahead whenever the speechwriters came back from a briefing with their Chinese food orders ready. Chloe never complained. She quickly learned that the good stuff happened after 6:00 P . M . Sometimes, the bad stuff did, too--bad enough to get her fired. Some said that her career and her life in general had gone downhill since then.
    Chloe would have said it was more like falling off a cliff.
    "Upon Vice President Grayson's death, I immediately met with the Speaker of the House and Senate majority leader and asked members of both houses of Congress to submit the names of possible nominees for the vice presidency."
    Chloe poked at her dinner, a bowl of microwave popcorn and a tangerine. She was already too thin, down to one hundred pounds of anger and bitterness, and the mere sound of President Keyes' voice was enough to kill what little appetite she had. Her office had been in the Old Executive Office Building, next door to the White House, but before getting fired she'd earned herself a blue pass, which afforded access to all nonresidential parts of the White House. She was one of the lucky interns who'd actually gotten face time with the chief executive, and even though she would never forget what President Keyes looked like, the snowy image on her television screen made it difficult to discern his likeness as he delivered tonight's message from the East Room. The audio was fine, but the picture sucked. Her cable had been disconnected for nonpayment, and she was relying on rabbit ears.
    "I also sought and received suggestions from my cabinet, staff, and other sources outside Congress."
    To be fair, Chloe's loss of the White House gig had been only the start of her troubles--the first in a series of dominoes that had kicked her into the journalistic gutter. Two years ago she would have turned up her nose at a newspaper that didn't require its reporters to corroborate information from an anonymous source. Now, she worked for a rag that paid its sources in cash--lots of cash.
    "I indicated just two qualifications for the job," the president told his television audience. "First, that the nominee be capable of serving as president; and second, that he or she be able to work with members of both parties in Congress and be capable of confirmation by both houses."
    Chloe pushed the bowl of popcorn aside and brought up her e-mails on her laptop. Lucky for her, the downstairs neighbor had unsecured Internet. Chloe's Wi-Fi piggybacked onto it just fine, free of charge.
    "In response to my request, the White House received hundreds of recommendations, including some very thoughtful suggestions from fifth and sixth graders at the Adams School in Lexington, Massachusetts."
    Chloe scoffed. Nice line about the middle schools, but Chloe was losing interest in the rhetoric. She scrolled down on the LCD screen to the most recent e-mail from her source. She'd been going back and forth with him for at least two weeks now, ever since her editor had put her on the assignment.
    "I studied each of