Step Aside, Mr. President.

Chapter 3 - Price of Power

The autumn evening painted the Capitol in shades of amber and gold as Nicholas Hayes sat alone at the top of its steps, savoring the aftermath of what would later be known as the "January Massacre." It was 2006, and at Sixty-four, he had just orchestrated one of the most ruthless political takedowns in recent memory. The air held the crisp bite of victory, and below him, Washington spread out like a chessboard waiting to be mastered.

The Speaker election had been his masterpiece. Three months of careful manipulation, midnight phone calls, and whispered promises had culminated in the complete dismantling of the presumptive Speaker's power base. Hayes had moved with surgical precision, exploiting rivalries so subtle that even their participants hadn't recognized them until it was too late.

Representative Thomas Wheeler, the presumptive Speaker, had never seen it coming. That morning, he'd walked into the Capitol certain of his victory, backed by three powerful committee chairs and a seemingly unshakeable coalition. By afternoon, he was politically radioactive, his supporters scattered like leaves in a storm. The whispers had started small – irregular campaign contributions, questionable real estate deals, a series of meetings with lobbyists that looked innocent until Hayes's careful framing cast them in a more sinister light.

"You don't celebrate like most people," a voice said behind him, breaking into his thoughts.

Hayes didn't need to turn to recognize Gabriel Morrison, the charismatic governor of New York. "Celebration makes you careless," Hayes replied, his gaze still fixed on the city below. "There's always another move to plan."

Morrison settled beside him on the step, his expensive suit gathering dust without concern. At forty-five, he carried himself with the confidence of someone who had never tasted defeat, having won every election he'd entered in by landslide margins. His military bearing remained evident in his posture, even years after his service.

"That's exactly why I'm here, Morrison said. "I watched what you did today – how you dismantled Wheeler's coalition. It was..." he paused, searching for the right word, "...beautiful. Like watching a surgeon work."

Hayes allowed himself a small smile. "Wheeler made it easy. He thought power was about having the most friends. He never understood it's about knowing which friends to keep."

"And which to sacrifice," Morrison added, studying Hayes's profile. "You know, most people in this town move fast, grab whatever power they can reach. But you..." He gestured at the aftermath of Hayes's handiwork. "You're willing to wait. To let the pieces arrange themselves before you strike. No one could have predicted that, after the party lost control last time, you'd find your way back to the speakership—especially when no one even had you in the conversation."

There was something calculating in Morrison's tone that Hayes recognized – the sound of a chess player evaluating a potential opponent or ally. Hayes had heard about Morrison's rapid rise through New York politics, from civil rights lawyer to governor, each step perfectly timed and executed.

"Patient men are dangerous men, Governor Morrison," Hayes said, finally turning to meet his gaze. "Something tells me you didn't climb the Capitol steps just to congratulate me on regaining the Speakership."

Morrison's laugh was genuine, though his eyes remained sharp. "Direct. I like that."

Morrison nodded, as if confirming something to himself. "I'm running for President in 2008," he said finally. "And I want you as my Vice President."

Now Hayes did turn, measuring Morrison with the same calculating gaze that had just dismantled a speaker hopeful's career. "Why me?"

"Because you see the game differently. Everyone else is playing checkers, making obvious moves, chasing immediate gains. But you..." Morrison's eyes lit with genuine admiration. "You are the best political operative I've seen and when I take office, I intend to reshape this country with an agenda bold enough to leave a lasting legacy, and for that, I'll need someone like you—someone indispensable."

He pulled out a business card, expensive stock with raised lettering. "You don't need to answer immediately. I'm hosting a dinner next week. Small gathering. Where we can talk further about this." He held out the card. "I think you and I could do remarkable things together, Mr. Speaker."

As Morrison descended the steps, Hayes watched him go, turning the card over in his hands. The setting sun cast long shadows across the Capitol grounds, and in them, Hayes could see the outline of futures beginning to take shape.

Hayes remained on the steps long after Morrison had gone, watching darkness settle over Washington. He'd learned long ago that power wasn't in the winning – it was in knowing how to use the victory. And as he finally stood to leave, he couldn't help but wonder which of them would ultimately prove to be the more patient man.