Vince Foster was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt whatever about that.
For years afterward, she was haunted by his abandonment. She relied on her people to protect and serve her, and Vince had left her exposed in their time of need. She found new servants, and even when that snotty Obama stole her prize just when it was almost hers, the comfort of the money rolling in and the loyal minions that followed them kept her going, and now she was close, so close to the brass ring…
The plane landed, and she could hear murmuring from the back. The reporters were asking for comment about James Comey’s letter — new emails had come to light from the FBI investigation into Anthony Weiner’s sexting, and so Comey was revealing that the FBI was continuing the investigation he had declared closed months ago. Into her. That bastard Weiner! Why are the men always doing stupid shit their dicks tell them to? It was all unraveling…
She made a simple statement to the reporters and returned to talk to Huma, who cried. No words, she thought — I know exactly what how that feels.
That night she fell asleep in front of the hotel room TV. She woke with a start — to the sound of chains rattling, and moans. On the screen was a dark shape forming over the CNN talking heads, and the sound had gone off. The form of Vince Foster — green, face half rotted, suit stained and oozing fluids — looked out at her and spoke.
“Hill — it’s me,” the apparition said. She was distracted by the worms crawling out of his mouth. “You’re in trouble again. And you’re the only person who can save you.”
She was frozen, but finally managed to speak: “What can I do?”
“Come with me,” Vince said, beckoning. And she was somehow through the screen and looking down on Washington from above.
“This city was yours,” Vince said, gesturing at the white-columned buildings below. “You were the One to lead the loyal bureaucrats to rolling over all those naysayers and keeping the very best people from the very best schools in charge. Those filthy racist rednecks from flyover states were going to be crushed, and the future would belong to pre-K, free college, clean energy, and social service jobs for everyone. You can still pull it off. But only if you handle this right.”
They passed into the Capital through the dome, and swooped down the halls toward the Senate chamber.
“But this is where you are heading, if you don’t change course now,” Vince said, nodding toward the dias. A vote was going on, with the end of the roll call. The chamber was quiet as the result was announced. “You see,” Vince said, “even Democrats voted to dump you after the election guaranteed the office of President would be in their hands. Impeachment gets you out of their hair. Kaine will be able to run things without the baggage and the investigations. You’re worth more to them dead than alive. And I of all people know how that feels.”
They seemed to be weightless, but the sinking sensation was real. “How can I stop this? Huma — should I cut her loose?”
“That’s not going to help. You have to change yourself. Be the person you’d have to be to overcome your image problems. Turn over a new leaf. Humble yourself. Admit error. Promise to be open and honest, and mean it. You’d be amazed how quickly you can be rehabbed if you can pull off sincere.”
She absorbed this idea. She tasted curdled milk. “Humble?”
“You are but a public servant. You will close down the Clinton Foundation. Bill will not be allowed in the White House — maybe a separation would be wise. You apologize for all the lying and the casual treatment of secret documents and the death of that Iranian scientist, and any other agents you endangered. You admit that you’ve spent a lifetime lying and influence-peddling and that you want to make amends. You’ll apologize to the people of Haiti for abusing their trust and siphoning off most of their relief funds to pay off your friends. You’ll make the White House the most transparent in history — maybe find some new words for that, those might be tainted.”
She looked down at the bald spots of the Senators reflecting the overhead lights. “Who’s going to believe any of that?”
“It used to work to claim you were born again, that you’d found Jesus. That won’t fly anymore. You could claim victim status — a sob story about how your mother treated you, and Bill let you down and shamed you. You couldn’t help yourself. But the conniving and greed are over. You’re taking a vow of poverty and service.”
“Fuck that shit,” she said, and spit down at a Republican who had voted to convict. “Thanks for warning me about these losers. We’ve got files on all of them. If I go down, so do they.”
And then she woke up — but the national nightmare was just beginning. Tiny Tim (Kaine) was sent out to denounce Comey only a week after he praised him.
Death by HR: How Affirmative Action Cripples Organizations, available now in Kindle and trade paperback.
The first review is in: by Elmer T. Jones, author of The Employment Game.
Corporate HR Scrambles to Halt Publication of “Death by HR”
Nobody gets a job through HR. The purpose of HR is to protect their parent organization against lawsuits for running afoul of the government’s diversity extortion bureaus. HR kills companies by blanketing industry with onerous gender and race labor compliance rules and forcing companies to hire useless HR staff to process the associated paperwork… a tour de force… carefully explains to CEOs how HR poisons their companies and what steps they may take to marginalize this threat… It is time to turn the tide against this madness, and Death by HR is an important research tool… All CEOs should read this book. If you are a mere worker drone but care about your company, you should forward an anonymous copy to him.
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Death by HR: Who Staffs HR Departments? Mostly Women…
Death by HR: The Great Enrichment to the Great Slackening
Death by HR: Good-Enough Cogs vs Best Employees
Death by HR: EEOC Incompetence and the Coming Idiocracy
The Justice is Too Damn High! – Gawker, the High Cost of Litigation, and the Weapon Shops of Isher
Regulation Strangling Innovation: Planes, Trains, and Hyperloop
Captain America and Progressive Infantilization
The Great Progressive Stagnation vs. Dynamism
FDA Wants More Lung Cancer