Prologue
The Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria on Park Avenue crackled with the energy of political euphoria.
Supporters of Adam Pritchett were celebrating what appeared to be a victory of historic proportions in the New York City mayoral race. Expensive champagne flowed among the two-thousand-plus revelers in the elegant four-story, two-tiered room. Money wasn’t really an issue for Pritchett, and by extension, for his campaign. Nothing could derail what had come to be known as the “Pritchett Juggernaut.”
Or, at least, that’s how it seemed to everyone in the room, including campaign staff, donors, volunteers, Democratic Party officials, and even the media.
Pritchett ran one of the most unorthodox and expensive mayoral campaigns in New York’s history – and that was saying something. He spent a prodigious amount of dollars on all kinds of political advertising, including television, radio, Internet and social media, newspapers and magazines, direct mail, billboards and seemingly every other paid advertising outlet.
At the same time, Pritchett completely ignored the media. He failed to do even one interview during the race, did not hold any press conferences, refused to participate in debates, and ignored questions shouted by reporters at campaign stops.
Pritchett, whose net worth topped the $280 million mark, built his wealth as one of New York’s leading commercial real estate developers. The man’s confidence in his own abilities was legendary in New York business circles, and when he decided to jump into politics by running for mayor, his arrogance only seemed to grow. Pritchett simply hired the best political advertising people in the nation, brought on a few political consultants willing to carry out his wishes with few questions, and saturated the largest and most expensive media market in the nation, perhaps the world, with his message.
That message was simple. Pritchett would bring crime, which had spiked over the past couple of years, back under control. He pledged to make sure that every city government job and program was protected, and the budget for public schools would rise. He was more than willing to jack up taxes on “my fellow wealthy residents who receive so much from this great city.”
The unions loved him, as did the rest of the Democratic Party. After all, what wasn’t there to love in a place like New York City? Pritchett was willing to spend his own money to get elected, and spend other people’s money to expand government and fight crime, all while hiking taxes on the rich, of which he was a member. He was a liberal dream.
Pritchett’s opponent didn’t stand a chance.
The polls had closed a mere twenty minutes ago. The crushed Republican, Robert Nesci, already finished his concession speech. Now, the Pritchett faithful drank, danced and chanted their man’s name. They grew ever more excited, with anticipation mounting for Pritchett’s victory speech.
The only group in the room uniformly unenthused was the media. Despite the fact that they overwhelmingly subscribed to the same party affiliation and policy ideas as Pritchett, these reporters and commentators uniformly hated the guy for his arrogance and, more importantly, his cutting the media out of his campaign. It didn’t matter if they agreed with his agenda or not, access denied was unacceptable. But they looked beaten, resigned to being on the outside looking in for the coming four years.
Just outside the ballroom, Pritchett buttoned his dark blue suit jacket, looked at a key aide, Maureen Donahue, and said, “Well, Maureen, ready to make history?”
She responded, “You’ve already done that, sir.”
“You’re right. But let’s go make some more.”
Donahue spoke into a cellphone. “Mayor-elect Pritchett is ready. He will be entering in a few seconds.” The 30-year-old Donahue had a soothing voice, bright blue eyes, round face, easy smile, and shoulder length blond hair that combined in a way so that people seemed to automatically like her, and were willing to get things done for her.
Donahue waited about ten seconds, and then pointed to and smiled at a member of Pritchett’s security team, signaling him to open the doors.
The security team formed a wedge in front of Pritchett, with Donahue and two other campaign officials trailing behind.
As Frank Sinatra belted out “New York, New York” amidst applause and shouts of approval, a spotlight focused on the smiling, waving Adam Pritchett. He didn’t look the part of a powerful politician, nor business tycoon, for that matter. Pritchett was short and thin with messy, grayish hair, a pointed, pinched nose, and a nasally voice. He wore thick, square glasses, and somehow, his expensive, tailored suits never seemed to hang right on his body. The entire package combined to make him appear older than his 52 years.
At the podium, Pritchett eventually calmed the faithful long enough to begin his speech. Beyond the generic thank you to voters, his campaign staff and volunteers, Pritchett’s comments were noteworthy for their lack of generosity toward anyone.
While acknowledging his opponent’s concession speech, Pritchett took a moment to point out, once more, just how wrong Nesci had been on the issues. There also was no use of the word “we” when talking about the campaign or his upcoming administration. Instead, it was “I” and “me.”
But few of Pritchett’s supporters seemed to notice or care.
Then he came to crime. Pritchett said, “And make no mistake, I will make sure that our city is retaken from criminals, that every man, woman and child, every resident, commuter and visitor, will again be safe in this leading global city.”
The crowd erupted once more. A chant of “Pritchett, Pritchett” began and grew ever louder.
After nearly a minute, Pritchett lowered the volume of the crowd.
He began to speak again. “So, as your mayor…”
But a woman’s voice rang out from the floor in front of Pritchett’s podium. She yelled, “God bless you, Adam. We’re praying for you!”
While many in the room responded with hoots of approval, Pritchett’s face instantly transformed from victorious joy to controlled anger.
He pointed in the direction from where the call for blessings and prayers came, and said, “No! No, thank you. I don’t want prayers. I don’t want any god’s blessing. I don’t need it, and New York City certainly does not need it. And let’s be clear, New York does not need religion in the public arena. So, save any talk of prayer for the pews and your private lives. Let’s move away from such nonsense, and get back to the real world and real issues.”
Several individuals cheered Pritchett’s comments, including enthusiastic clapping from two of his three top campaign aides. Some of the Pritchett faithful half-heartedly applauded. But many in the room seemed bewildered, not sure how to react. That included Maureen Donahue.
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