Kicking the Can Read Online Free Page B

across from Sebastian.
    “Thank you for holding the press conference,” President Cannon began. “It heightened the awareness among the citizens of this country of just how perilous our financial situation has become. Perhaps next time we can hold a joint press conference?”
    “Perhaps,” Bennett said with a sneer. “I felt it was my patriotic duty.”
    “I can’t imagine the anguish Jackson must have felt withholding vital information from the electorate. Were you able to speak with him before the press release, or do they have visitation restrictions at Lee Federal Penitentiary?”
    Bennett furled his forehead but said nothing.
    “The urgency of our nation’s financial situation warrants a State of the Union address.”
    “What do you hope to accomplish?” Bennett quipped.
    “I intend to tell the citizens of these United States that unless we act, the fate of this great nation is in jeopardy. The root cause of our deficit spending is healthcare entitlements. The system must be revamped—that’s the message.”
    “What do you intend to do once you’ve stirred up the American people?”
    “In 1961 JFK
challenged
Congress and America to put a man on the moon within the decade and succeeded. I intend to announce my own challenge—fix health care by engaging Congress and America to uncover policy solutions to resolve the entitlement mess and balance the federal budget. The challenge will unite this country to solve our gravest threat, something Congress has been unable, or unwilling, to do.”
    “Mr. President, you forgot how the legislative process works. A member from the House or Senate must introduce a bill. Our party has already identified the substantive legislation for this session,” Bennett said. Turning his eyes to Sebastian, he crossed his arms in indignation. “What kind of advice are you giving him, Sebastian? I expected more from you.”
    The room fell silent. Haines leaned over and whispered to Bennett; both men emerged from the confab grinning.
    “Mr. President…pound sand!” Bennett said.
    “Is that your message to America?” Cannon asked. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood, signaling the meeting was over.

12
    J ason Mitchell was an unflappable journalist, selected as Cannon’s press secretary because of his reputation for integrity and his knowledge of social media. A campaign to raise the financial literacy in the country would require unorthodox communication: social media was a platform they would exploit—which was Mitchell’s bailiwick.
    “Mr. President, it’s peculiar for you to insist on writing your Union address. I feel it’s my professional duty to warn you this speech will be controversial…a lightning rod for political pundits to question your vision and, frankly, your sanity.”
    “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Cannon said to his press secretary, an attempt to bring levity to the conversation.
    “I beg your pardon, Mr. President.”
    “Jason, it’s my sense of humor—you’ll become habituated the more we work together.”
    Open-collared shirts with loud designs and colors, cords and straight-leg slacks of different fabrics, and custom leather square-toed shoes made up his wardrobe. He was thirty-four years old and cool. The press loved him.
    “Aren’t you afraid of what will happen to your approval rating after you air this speech? It’s going to scare the hell out of half the population, and the other half will label you a
doomsayer
. Presidents are supposed to be optimists—this reads like the book of Revelation.”
    “Let me worry about the speech; your job is to channel your creative energy into adapting my message—it’s imperative we reach every voter, regardless of socioeconomic status, ethnicity, age, and gender. We need to harness the ‘patriotism’ in every US citizen by reaching and focusing that energy on solving our economic crisis.”
    Mitchell’s creative juices were flowing, tapping out a drum