An Excerpt from Book of Life

Nastov nodded. “Senator, I am very sorry to hear this. How do you think I can help?”

Along with the sensitive nature of his concern, the senator appeared to know the precariousness of his situation. For any politician, soliciting a personal favor from an influential individual carries risk. But it was especially so when that individual was Doran Nastov. This was due to an ongoing debate that contemplated if Nastov, owing to his wealth, fame, tech innovations, and prominence on social media, was currently the most powerful individual in the world. On this day, Nastov received two resounding affirmations of that notion. First, he was in Oslo to receive the Nobel Peace Prize, and second, a United States senator stood before him, tearfully begging for his assistance.

“Mr. Nastov—”

“Please, Senator, call me Doran.”

“All right, Doran. I’m bringing this matter to you because everyone agrees that you know more about the internet than anyone, and as today attests, you are known for helping people. I don’t understand the internet, and I’m not sure what to ask. But possibly there is something you can do. I am sorry to bring this to you on your big day. But she is my daughter. I had to ask.”

“Of course,” assured Nastov. “You are her father. You should do everything you can to help her. These photographs, they are …”

The senator’s eyes scanned their immediate surroundings, checking to confirm the privacy of their conversation. Composing himself, he said, “She is naked, doing some regrettable things, for which she is deeply sorry. So far, the man has only posted photographs that do not show her face. But he is threatening to post others that do! She knows she made a mistake. The price she will pay if this man carries out his threats is too great for anyone. Especially someone with their whole life ahead of them. And she is planning on running for Congress.”

The senator removed an envelope from inside his coat. “This is all the information I have about the man.”

Nastov accepted the envelope but appeared uninterested in its contents. As the senator continued to labor, Nastov placed an empathetic hand on his shoulder. “Senator,” Nastov said with an assuring tone, “calm yourself. I can help.”

A group of well-wishers started to approach before Nastov rebuffed them with a raised hand and a smile. He then motioned for the senator to resume their discussion. 

“The man of which you speak,” continued Nastov. “I can place a virus in the man’s devices, destroying all his files. And I can block the photos from the internet.”

The eyes and face of a distraught father brightened. He appeared to recompose as he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes and breathed sighs of relief.

“Thank you, Doran. Thank you! And perhaps as you destroy the files on his devices, you could use your power to discover things about the despicable young man. Things you could share with me so that I can arrange for him to be taught a lesson.”

Nastov stared back with a look of disdain, then shook his head. His reply was a firm no.

“Senator, your daughter posed for those photos willingly. She too has responsibility in this matter. We must all be accountable for our actions. Did you know she and the man made a video too?”

The senator went ashen as Nastov took out his phone and began to scroll. A moment later, he held the phone at an angle that would prevent onlookers but allow the senator to see the screen, should he choose to do so. 

A video began. It showed a naked young woman lying on a bed. Scarves had been used to blindfold her and tie her hands to the headboard. She appeared intoxicated and aroused, giggling as a hand entered the image. Fingers traced upward from her hip before circling her breast. Moments later, the fingers slid under her blindfold and began to lift.

“Hey, stop!” she shouted as the clip ended before showing her face.

Nastov pushed a button to end the video as he shook his head. “This is a sick era in which we live. In the past, a woman’s rite of passage was when she lost her virginity. Today, it is when she loses the rights to her nude image.”

The look of pain and despair returned to the face of the distraught father.

Nastov closed his phone. “Compose yourself, Senator. You and your daughter will never need to worry about any of these images again.”

The senator’s reply was a cautious and uncertain “Thank you.”

The expression of gratitude had barely finished when Nastov interrupted. “But I would worry about the public learning of how you used your influence to get her out of that drug bust five years ago when she was stopped in the Birmingham airport with ten grams of coke. That would be the more damaging revelation—for both of you.”

“Mr. Nastov,” the senator said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Senator,” Nastov calmly continued, “the DEA agent in charge discarded his laptop that contained the records of the bust. But government hard drive scrubbers of that time were not a match for the data recovery measures to come.”

Nastov looked hard into the eyes of the senator. “Someone was able to recover the data from that hard drive. I’m sure if the agent were confronted under the right circumstances, he would confirm the incident.”

The senator was silent.

“Senator, throughout her life, your daughter has enjoyed tremendous privilege in a society that is often unfair to many of its citizens. And even with that privilege, she frequently requires your intervention on her behalf. I understand. She is your daughter. But your online history details no occasions where you used your influence to intervene on behalf of someone who lacks her level of privilege, someone poor, someone falsely accused.”

A roving wine steward with a freshly filled tray stopped a few feet away. Nastov smiled and motioned for him to approach. After removing a glass from the tray, he gestured for the senator to take a glass as well.

“Please, Senator.”

In near shock, the senator tensely raised his hand to decline the offer.

As the steward stepped away, Nastov resumed an assuring tone and expression. “Senator, consider this conversation to have occurred between friends. I am going to address all your concerns. But if your daughter has to carry in her mind the concern that those photos may someday resurface, that is the price she must pay.”

“They could resurface?” asked the senator.

“If they do, I can respond,” Nastov assured. “But, Senator, I feel I should tell you that I was made aware of these photos some days ago. I mentioned their existence to my adviser, Mr. Pardee. I told him how unfortunate I thought this whole matter was but that I felt I should stay out of it.”

Nastov shrugged. “At least that was my initial view. But Mr. Pardee said, ‘No, Doran. Senator Turner is a good man and an important senator. If there is anything we can do to help him, we should do so.’ So, you have Mr. Pardee to thank for persuading me to help you.”

Nastov paused, then added, “Actually, I was the one who made sure you knew of the photos.” 

The senator was quiet and obviously uncertain of his understanding with Nastov.

“Senator, we all must be accountable for our actions.”

            Now it was Nastov’s eyes that scanned to assure the privacy of his conversation with the senator.

“Senator, as I help you and your daughter, I know I can count on your help with a separate matter. Some of your colleagues want to hold hearings to investigate me regarding my alleged excessive power over the internet and social media, the power that I am going to use to help your daughter. You need to quietly let them know that any effort to hold such hearings would be met with the strongest of opposition—from you.”          

Before the senator could compose a reply, Nastov added, “Perhaps Mr. Pardee could be of assistance with this matter. Maybe he should assist in crafting your public statements in objection to such hearings.”

After a sip of wine, he motioned toward Evan Pardee, who stood a few conversations away.

Evan “War” Pardee was one of the Western world’s most sought-after political consultants, or at least he had been until Nastov purchased the exclusive rights to his services. Specifically, he was paid millions to steer the government and public opinion away from fears that his client was acquiring too much power over the modern world.

Pardee publicly lived in the mold of Nastov—handsome, virile, trendy, and a frequent face on TV and social media. He had received the nickname “War” when he was fired while working in his first campaign, the reelection effort of an eight-term congressman.

“Evan,” the congressman said when informing him of his dismissal, “you’re the first guy I would want beside me in a war. But there ain’t always a war.”

Pardee’s now-famous retort created his brand.

“Sir, with me, it’s always war.”

Ever since, Pardee had ended all correspondence with the salutation “Always.”

Nastov and Pardee kept the scope of their collaboration secret, though many suspected its pervasiveness and near omniscience. In secret, the two constantly populated social media with contrived personalities, posts, likes, trolls, and tropes designed to create the perception of widespread public support for Nastov, his cyber creations, and the causes he championed. Anyone viewing the content would be provided evidence that agreement placed them in a trendy and passionate majority and that dissent ran the risk of fierce social condemnation.

Absent from all recent online posts, or any news account, was a record of the frequent visits Pardee had made to Norway, all occurring during the weeks when the Norwegian Nobel Committee was in deliberation over this year’s Peace Prize.

Pardee approached.

“Senator, I’m sure you know War.”

Everyone in Washington did.

“War, Senator Turner and I were discussing the growing momentum in Congress to conduct investigations and hearings about my work.”

Pardee nodded with a smirk. “Oh yes. Those hearings would be a serious threat to free speech.”

The senator received the pointed assessment in silence.

Pardee continued. “If needed, that would be the key talking point in a public response, should one become necessary. But personally, I’ve always felt that it’s best if we can solve political problems before they require a public response.”

Nastov nodded.

“Surely,” Pardee said, “you can privately give your fellow senators a reason that this matter does not need to go public.”

The senator’s face showed pause. He looked at Nastov and exclaimed. “Perhaps you do have too much power!”

Nastov stared in defiance. “Perhaps.”

From across the room, a woman who appeared to be orchestrating the event boldly walked into the space of the conversation.

“Ready, Nasty?” She smiled as she pinched Nastov on the hip.

“Ready,” he replied as he sat aside his now empty wine glass. Nastov returned his attention to the senator. “Relax, Senator. Your concerns will be addressed. Feel no need to speak of them again. Let your daughter know help is on the way.”

Before the senator could reply, the woman turned to the room and assertively called out, “Attention, everyone! Please give me your attention!”

The hum of the crowd ebbed. 

As if oblivious to the senator, she took the guest of honor by the hand and removed him from his presence. She guided Nastov to the center of the room.

The woman was tall, beautiful, and beamingly confident with flowing hair and dark features. Her presence took command of the moment.

Media mogul Emanuel Consiglio was present not just to orchestrate the reception but also to direct a worldwide telecast of the soon to occur ceremony. Her selection to oversee the project surprised no one. In large part, it was Consiglio who had successfully cultivated Nastov’s rock star image. When not developing her cable networks or making highly successful movies, her work had prodigiously glamorized his persona and accomplishments.

And in this moment, as with any moment orchestrated by Emanuel Consiglio, she too would be a catalyst within the optics. Her reputation for designer wardrobes and advocacy on behalf of humanitarian causes epitomized the synthesis of celebrity and social consciousness.

Confidants had often heard her say that the ability to make others look good carried the right, if not also the expectation, that she look good as well.

In many ways, it was her day too. Everyone was certain that, though she carried it well, she inwardly held a belief that without her, this day would not have occurred. And on this day, it was once again her production, her cameras, and even she who would present the man she had brought to world adoration.

“I know we all wish to congratulate Doran on becoming the next recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize.”

Applause rose.

“In case he hasn’t had his ego stroked enough for one day.”

Laughter responded.

“I would like to share a video I have produced for the USTV network. It will air later today.”

Consiglio’s hand rose and clicked a remote that lowered a screen from the ceiling. A second click started a video with narration.

“Few people in history have risen to the level of success, wealth, and fame as Doran Nastov has at the age of thirty-nine. He is also today’s leading cultural icon, handsome, telegenic, and cutting-edge stylish. It is undeniable that he is the world’s preeminent celebrity entrepreneur. Nastov has acquired fame and billions by creating two things, the eN-verse, the world’s most popular social media site, which also stores most of the world’s digital information, and the Nastcoin, the world’s most widely used cryptocurrency, which is verging on becoming the world’s most used currency of any type.”

“But what has really created Nastov’s personal brand and what has brought him to Oslo is his extensive and highly publicized work in developing countries. In several, he has donated millions of computers to school-aged children. He has also facilitated the birth of a new entrepreneur class using the Nastcoin as a currency. The stunning success of this effort has brought widespread economic growth to previously impoverished areas. Simultaneously, it has given unprecedented worldwide popularity to Nastov, leading to the announcement by the Nobel Committee that he is the next recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize.”

The video ended. The room broke into applause. Nastov and Consiglio embraced. It was as much for her as it was for him. For several minutes, guests stepped forward with smiles and additional expressions of congratulation.

Lost in the swell was the senator, who now stood idle and well to the periphery.