Page 3 of The First Gentleman

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T he convoy crawls toward the entrance as cops push the crowds back.

Inside the six-ton Suburban in the middle, Cole rubs his hands together nervously.

Pearce leans forward in his jump seat and says, “The county sheriffs, state troopers, and Secret Service have carved out a path so we can go around to the rear of the courthouse. By the time the crowd and the press catch on, we’ll be inside and out of sight.”

Hidden away, Cole thinks.

“No,” he says quietly.

“That’s not going to happen.”

Pearce blinks.

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. Going in through the rear of the courthouse signals that I’m guilty, that I have something to hide. Screw that. I’m going to run the ball straight through the line of scrimmage.”

The Suburban moves toward the driveway turnoff.

Pearce is getting testy.

“Cole, plans have been in place for days. Best to arrive via the rear from both a safety and PR viewpoint.”

But Cole is firm.

“We go through the front door. That’s final.” He turns to his wife.

“Maddy, will you say a few words on the courthouse steps?”

It’s a big ask.

Maddy doesn’t need to tell him the source of the tension in her eyes.

The conflict between being his loving partner while serving as POTUS, leader of the free world, is etched on her face.

Maddy looks at her chief of staff.

“Cole is right, Burton. We go through the front entrance, heads held high.”

“But, ma’am, we’re just about there. Arrangements have been made.”

Cole sees Maddy shift into commander-in-chief mode.

Cool. Crisp. Decisive.

“You’ve got a phone,” she says.

“Make new arrangements.”