CHAPTER ELEVEN
9:21 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Lafayette Park, Washington DC
It was a beautiful thing to witness.
They called it the People’s Park, and today the people were all here.
Not the ordinary denizens of this park, where generation after generation of the rabble, the rabble-rousers, and the radicals—the unwashed, the losers of life—would camp out and protest the policies of one President after another.
No. Not those people.
These people were his people. A sea of people—thousands of them, tens of thousands—who last night had passed the word across social media that their man was speaking here today. It was a stealth move, a knife in the back, the kind of move Gerry O’Brien excelled at. He had obtained the permit for this gathering from the city just before close of business
