Stern stood staring into the dark, smoking and thinking, while behind him Harding argued with someone on the phone. The smoke soothed as he mulled the situation.
The sun was setting over the city and, it seemed, on Harding. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he wasn’t going to be able to hold it together. It was a pity. He had the right stuff to be a serious contender in the political power game. Charm, ruthlessness, native wit and “vision.” A pity he had that dark side that so many of the bright ones seemed cursed with.
Power, real power, was a balancing act that required the holder to never let one factor overwhelm the others. Once balance was gone, a long fall was inevitable.
Stern had done well with Harding, but he wasn’t about to go down with him. Not for something as stupid
