Chapter One April 14 7:17 a.m. (Two hours before)  Ben Kincaid stood rigid and still as his wife, Christina McCall, adjusted his tie, smoothed the lie of his shirt, and ran a lint brush over the shoulders of his navy blue suit coat. "There," she said, taking a step back to survey the view. "Now you look like someone who's ready to advise the leader of the free world." "That's a relief." "Remember to smile and say something nice about his wife. And don't remind him about--" She stopped in midsentence. "Wait just a minute." She hiked up the leg of his blue slacks. "Are you seriously wearing red socks?" Ben's eyes moved downward. "They're my lucky socks." "No." "But I need all the luck--" "No." She pointed toward the clothes closet. "Change." Ben obeyed without further protest. Of course, he always made a great show of being put out when Christina made these sartorial demands, but in truth, he didn't mind a bit. Given that he had no sense of fashion and was partially color-blind, he needed all the help he could get and was capable of accepting it without feeling his manhood was threatened. For years his mother had picked out and paired up all his clothes. Now she had passed the torch to his wife. All this meant, he reminded himself as he changed into a pair of blue socks, was that he was a very fortunate man. The irony was that, once upon a time, Christina had been known for her dubious fashion sense, for dressing more like a member of the Sex Pistols than a practicing attorney. All that had changed last year when Ben made his run for a Senate seat. In addition to the five thousand other consultants they'd consulted, they'd hired a fashion consultant to tell them how to dress for formal functions, casual events, and television appearances. For Christina, it was a road-to-Damascus experience. Now she had the reputation of being one of the sharpest dressers in Washington. Ben had been asked more than once if she had acquired a fashion degree at some point in her past. With her gorgeous red hair styled in a fetching shoulder-length coif, Ben found her absolutely stunning. Not that he was prejudiced or anything. "That's more like it," she said when he reemerged. "And just for the record, you're not wearing those Superman boxer shorts, are you?" "I'm not planning to strip at the White House." "Yes, and nothing unplanned ever happens to you, does it?" "Good point. No, I'm clean." "Thank you." She smiled, and the smile made his spirits soar. Such a beautiful woman. Her face seemed to absolutely glow. Was it all his imagination? She even seemed taller these days. Although he supposed that could have something to do with the heels. "Anything else you need, mon cher amour?" "No. I'd better go. Traffic is terrible this time of day. And it still takes half an hour to get cleared to enter the White House." "Still?" "Yup." Ben had been working for almost two months now as a member of the president's legal team. Robert Griswold was the official special counsel to the president, but he had a staff of four lawyers. After his Senate defeat Ben had been appointed to fill a temporary vacancy on that staff. Despite the loss--not exactly unusual for a Democrat in Oklahoma--Ben's rankings in popularity polls remained high nationwide as a result of his work during his brief time in the Senate, particularly his work on the controversial Emergency Council bill, which garnered nationwide daily coverage. His oration on the floor of the Senate was widely Excerpted from Capitol Betrayal: A Novel by William Bernhardt All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.