His tendency to lose his temper was an admitted personal flaw, but one that had seemingly faded with age. Friends believed that he had simply learned to harness his anger with little internal harm. To a certain extent, it was true. At sixty-eight years old, he still had all his hair. Chief of Staff Andrew Bard had served Warren for five years as an underling and political advisor. An unremarkable yet loyal aide, Bard spent a minimum of twelve hours each day keeping the president up to date on current events and ensuring that his schedule carried a balance of recreational activities. Right now that meant preparing for the upcoming presidential election, which was just eighteen months away. “Andrew, this isn’t Hollywood,” the president said, pacing while sipping fresh juice. “Does Samuel know the impact of that?” “I would certainly hope so,” Bard replied. “He’s not one to overreact, but without solid evidence of this so-called premeditated act, I suggest prudence, sir.”
