Pawns & Rooks

A Ghost in the Room

I built that boy from nothing, and the first thing he did when he got his name in the papers was pretend I didn’t exist. Ungrateful little prick!

That’s the way it goes in politics— the ultimate game of taunting a cat with string.

It never fails though: You lift someone out of the gutter, dress them up, teach them which fork to use at a donor dinner, and the moment they feel steady on their feet, they act like they got there all on their own.

Peter Merritt was no different.

I remember the first time I saw him—thin, eager, a stray dog sniffing around the fringes of power, hoping someone important might throw him a scrap. He was working as a campaign intern, folding mailers in some dimly lit basement office, all hustle and no connections. He had that desperate look—the kind of look men like me can smell. A hunger so sharp it could cut glass.

I liked that. Hunger makes people useful.