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in the Senate chamber Friday. As Morgan passed through the ornate columns guarded by large Chinese fan palm trees, he paused to admire his daughter. Abigail never failed him. She shared a passion for the law and followed his educational path through Harvard. She gradually gained an inclination for politics. His wealth and power allowed her to avoid the normal path of local politics to the national stage. She enjoyed the benefit of his prominence and powerful friends, enabling her to become a powerful junior senator with even greater ambitions. There were times decisions would be made on her behalf. Friday’s wrangling with the Senate Majority Leader was one of those times. He did not like to shut her out, but as a sitting senator, plausible deniability was necessary.
    “May I borrow my lovely daughter?” asked Morgan to a handful of well-wishers surrounding Abigail. “This will only take a moment.” Morgan leaned down to kiss her cheek, which was slightly out of character for him. Her cold response told him she was still unhappy. He led her into the billiards room and shut the door behind them.
    “Abigail, I need to explain,” said Morgan, but she interrupted him.
    “Father, you know I don’t like to sell my vote,” said Abbie. “We agreed I would always look after your interest, and theirs .” Abbie gestured through the door, obviously making reference to the Boston Brahmin.
    “Yes, dear, we did agree,” said Morgan. “You have always performed admirably.”
    “I am not one of your employees who expects a pat on the back,” said Abbie. “Those provisions of the NDAA are onerous and need to be removed.” She walked away from him and mindlessly rolled the cue ball down the red felt of the full-size, modern billiards table. He hoped his explanation would make this right.
    “Before I provide you the details of my arrangement with Senator McConnell, please know that I will never put you in a position to compromise your principles, even if they conflict with my own needs,” said Morgan. “I will not be at cross-purposes with my daughter. I would simply find another way.” Morgan discerned his daughter was still raw with emotion.
    “The objectionable provisions of the NDAA will be struck from the final draft prior to passage,” said Morgan.
    Abigail looked up at him, probing his eyes for subterfuge. She knew him well.
    He continued. “Politics is about give and take, as you have learned. We take far more than we give. I have worked with Senators McConnell and Reid their entire careers. I helped Harry rise to his leadership position. The two are interchangeable. The fight between political parties is less about ideology than it is about who controls the purse strings. Republicans and Democrats rotate in and out of political power, but they conduct the same political business while there—control the flow of money to their benefactors. Abigail, we are the benefactors to both sides of the aisle.” He could see her relax. Morgan had taught her over time that his methods might appear objectionable at first, but the results typically improved a given situation.
    “What kind of deal did you make? What land was McConnell talking about?”
    “Abigail, we have established a charitable trust and will be acquiring Prescott Peninsula,” replied Morgan.
    “What part of it—the old town of Prescott? For what purpose?” asked Abigail. She leaned on a barstool next to a mounted eight-point buck.
    “No, dear, all of it, including the Quabbin Reservoir.” Morgan allowed this to sink in for a moment. The Quabbin Reservoir was the largest body of water in the State of Massachusetts. Located in the central part of the state, it was formed by the creation of dams and dikes in the 1930s, and became federal government owned and was largely undeveloped. Prescott Peninsula was completely surrounded by the reservoir and was largely unimproved except for an abandoned radio astronomy observatory where the old town of Prescott