Francis sat inconspicuously near the back, watching the silhouettes of the people gathered below with a faint smile.
He could already imagine how spectacular their expressions would be in a little while.
“Francis.” A voice from behind interrupted his thoughts.
Turning around, he saw Helen walking toward him along the aisle of the viewing gallery.
Behind her came a group of Roosevelt family members.
The moment Tadd spotted him, he frowned and stopped in his tracks.
“Helen, I let it slide at the banquet,” he demanded, “but this time, care to explain why he’s here again?” The other family members exchanged uneasy glances.
Francis knew that look all too well.
It was the detached indifference the upper class reserved for people they believed shouldn’t exist.
“Tadd, Uncle Franklin invited Francis himself.
If you want an explanation, you’ll have to ask Uncle.” Tadd’s frown deepened, but he said nothing.
“Excuse me, are you Mr.
Francis?” At that moment, another man approached from a different direction.
Francis turned to look.
The man appeared to be in his forties, of average build, dressed in a meticulously tailored dark gray overcoat.
He was none other than Arthur Ballantine, the Assistant Secretary of the Treasury.
Francis stood and extended his hand.
“Mr.
Ballantine, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” “Mr.
Francis…
thank you.
Truly.” Ballantine gripped his hand tightly.
Perhaps because of his excitement, the muscles in his face twitched ever so slightly.
When a new president took office, replacing the previous administration’s officials with his own trusted people was perfectly normal.
And with the entire United States shrouded in the shadow of the financial crisis, Treasury officials were especially on edge.
Everyone was anxiously awaiting the verdict on their political fate, and Ballantine was no exception.
But just a few days earlier, William had met with him privately and personally informed him that once the new administration took office, he would remain in his position as Assistant Secretary of the Treasury and be assigned to an important new initiative.
The news had filled him with overwhelming joy.
Afterward, he discreetly made a few inquiries through private channels and finally learned the truth.
The main reason he had been allowed to stay on—and entrusted with such an important assignment—was because a young man named Francis Roosevelt had strongly recommended him.
He still had no idea what the initiative actually involved.
But he knew one thing.
If he carried it out successfully, he would undoubtedly earn President Roosevelt’s trust, and his future would be brighter than ever.
“Mr.
Ballantine, there’s no need to thank me.
The country needs you.” “No problem, Mr.
Francis.
Absolutely no problem.” Ballantine nodded vigorously, looking as though he was only one step away from openly pledging his loyalty.
Not far away, Tadd and the others stood frozen.
They knew who Ballantine was.
He might not have belonged to Washington’s highest circle of power, but as Assistant Secretary of the Treasury, he was already a figure of considerable influence.
Why would someone like him clasp a bastard son’s hand so enthusiastically—and thank him?
What on earth was going on?
Helen stood quietly to one side without offering any explanation.
After all, her uncle had said the legislation had to remain strictly confidential.
As a result, even the Roosevelt family still knew nothing about the meeting that had taken place three days earlier.
If Arthur Ballantine’s appearance had merely left Tadd and the others confused, what happened next completely stunned them.
Members of the incoming Cabinet began filing into the viewing gallery.
First came Cordell Hull, the incoming Secretary of State and a veteran statesman from the South.
As he reached the row where Francis was seated, he slowed ever so slightly.
His gaze passed over the crowd, settled precisely on Francis, and he gave him a subtle nod.
It was such a slight gesture that it was almost impossible to notice.
But Tadd saw it clearly.
Harold Ickes came next.
The soon-to-be Secretary of the Interior, famous for his uncompromising style, wore the same stern expression as always.
Yet his eyes also swept in Francis’s direction, and the instant they met, he narrowed them ever so slightly—a silent acknowledgment understood only among old-school politicians.
Frances Perkins came even closer.
The woman who was about to become the first female Cabinet secretary in American history actually turned slightly toward Francis as she passed and gave him a small nod.
Then came Henry Wallace.
James Farley.
One…
two…
three…
As Tadd and the others kept count, they realized that nearly a third of the incoming Cabinet members had acknowledged Francis.
Not with curious glances.
Not with the perfunctory politeness expected at a public event.
They knew him.
There was some undeniable connection between them—one Tadd and the others couldn’t begin to understand.
“Helen.” Unable to hold back any longer, Tadd leaned closer and lowered his voice.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” “You’ll find out soon enough.” Helen didn’t answer directly.
Tadd opened his mouth to press further, but at that moment, a roar surged in from every direction like a rising tide, instantly engulfing the entire East Front Plaza of the Capitol.
Roosevelt was wheeled onto the platform.
It was the first time he had appeared before the public in the center of everyone’s attention while seated in his wheelchair.
Until then, the vast majority of Americans had no idea that their new president was disabled.
The press had also quietly honored an open secret.
They never photographed Roosevelt standing or walking, nor did they discuss his physical condition.
So when the crowd saw him, some covered their mouths in shock, while others simply stood frozen.
The ceremony began.
Chief Justice Charles Hughes stepped forward.
The seventy-one-year-old Republican wore a solemn expression.
Opening the Bible in his hands, he began reciting the presidential oath.
Roosevelt placed his left hand on a thick volume.
It was a family Bible in Dutch, brought from the Netherlands to New Amsterdam by his mother’s family in the 1660s.
“…preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States…” Hughes’s voice carried on the wind.
Roosevelt repeated the words after him, but when he reached the word “preserve,” he paused for half a second.
A pause so brief that almost no one noticed.
Only Francis, standing below the platform, knew what that half-second meant.
Years later, Roosevelt would explain that hesitation.
He said that, in that instant, he had been thinking that Hoover had taken the same oath.
Hoover had placed his hand on a Bible as well.
Hoover had also sworn before God and the American people to preserve and defend the Constitution.
But that Constitution had not protected the people of the United States.
Not the children starving in the shantytowns known as Hoovervilles.
Not the elderly men and women kneeling outside banks, begging for the savings of a lifetime.
Not the workers discarded by factories like worn-out rags.
None of them had received the “protection” that oath had promised.