Behind the President

CHAPTER FOUR-TEN QUESTIONS-Rin

I had interviewed presidents before.

Not American presidents.

Not yet.

But prime ministers.

Cabinet ministers.

Senators.

Governors.

Ambassadors.

Military officials.

Billionaires who thought they could buy their way out of difficult questions.

Politicians who smiled too much.

Politicians who didn’t smile enough.

Politicians who answered questions without actually answering them.

I had seen almost everything.

Or at least, I thought I had.

Then I met Gideon Vance.

He was different.

The first thing I noticed when I sat across from him was how still he was.

Most politicians moved when they were thinking.

They touched their ties.

Adjusted their jackets.

Moved their hands.

Looked toward their advisers.

Gideon did none of that.

He simply looked at me.

His dark eyes were steady.

His expression was controlled.

There was no nervousness.

No performance.

No obvious attempt to impress me.

It was almost unsettling.

I opened my notebook.

Ten questions.

That was all I had prepared.

Ten questions I believed would tell me more about the president-elect than a hundred questions about his childhood or his family.

I took a breath.

“President-elect Vance.”

“Mr. Tanaka.”

I almost smiled.

He remembered my name.

“Are you ready?”

“Ask.”

So I did.

⸻

QUESTION ONE

“Your campaign focused heavily on economic stability. But the United States is facing inflation concerns, rising housing costs, growing national debt, and an increasingly divided middle class. What is the first economic problem you intend to address when you take office?”

Gideon didn’t hesitate.

“Housing.”

I looked up.

“Housing?”

“Yes.”

He leaned slightly forward.

“People cannot build stable lives when housing consumes an unreasonable percentage of their income. You can give someone a tax reduction, but if their rent increases beyond what they can afford, you’ve solved very little.”

I wrote that down.

He continued.

“My administration will focus on increasing housing supply, accelerating responsible development, supporting first-time buyers, and working with state and local governments to reduce unnecessary barriers to construction.”

“And the cost?”

“Everything costs money.”

That answer surprised me.

He continued.

“The question isn’t whether government spends money. It always does. The question is whether we’re spending it intelligently.”

I looked at him.

“You’re not promising Americans that you’ll make housing cheap.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t believe presidents should promise miracles.”

I stopped writing.

That was interesting.

Very interesting.

⸻

QUESTION TWO

“Your administration inherits a deeply divided country. Half the country will believe you represent them. The other half will believe you represent everything they oppose. How do you govern people who didn’t vote for you?”

Gideon’s expression remained unchanged.

“By remembering that I work for them anyway.”

I waited.

He continued.

“I don’t become president only for people who voted for me.”

His voice was calm.

“If a farmer in Iowa voted against me, I still represent him. If a factory worker in Ohio voted against me, I still represent him. If a conservative family in Texas disagrees with every policy I propose, I still represent them.”

“And if they never accept you?”

“Acceptance isn’t a requirement for government.”

I looked up.

“What is?”

“Service.”

I wrote the word down.

Service.

Simple.

Almost old-fashioned.

Yet somehow, coming from Gideon, it sounded like a warning.

⸻

QUESTION THREE

“Your family has been involved in politics for generations. Your critics argue that you’re part of an American political dynasty and that your presidency represents inherited power. What do you say to people who believe the Vance family has too much influence?”

For the first time, Gideon’s expression changed.

Only slightly.

“My family has influence.”

He didn’t deny it.

I appreciated that.

“But influence is not the same thing as entitlement.”

I waited.

“My grandfather served this country. My parents served this country. I have served this country.”

He paused.

“But none of that means I am entitled to the presidency.”

“You believe you earned it?”

“I believe voters gave it to me.”

That answer stayed with me.

He didn’t say I deserved it.

He said voters gave it to me.

There was a difference.

⸻

QUESTION FOUR

“Your campaign promised to strengthen America’s position internationally. But the world is increasingly unstable. What is your foreign-policy principle?”

Gideon folded his hands.

“America will remain engaged.”

I waited for more.

He continued.

“But engagement doesn’t mean intervention in every conflict.”

That caught my attention.

“Explain.”

“We have allies. We have commitments. We have responsibilities.”

His voice became firmer.

“But American power should be used intelligently.”

“Meaning?”

“We negotiate when negotiation can prevent conflict. We use economic pressure when it is effective. We strengthen alliances when alliances make us safer.”

He paused.

“And when American lives are placed at risk, the decision must be based on national interest, not political theater.”

I stared at him.

“You wouldn’t rule out military action?”

“No.”

“But you wouldn’t rush toward it?”

“Absolutely not.”

That answer was probably going to make both sides of Washington angry.

Which, strangely enough, seemed to be exactly what Gideon wanted.

⸻

QUESTION FIVE

“Let’s talk about healthcare. Millions of Americans struggle with medical costs. What does healthcare reform look like under a Gideon Vance administration?”

He took a breath.

“Accessibility.”

I waited.

“Healthcare cannot simply exist. People must be able to afford to use it.”

He continued.

“I want to reduce prescription costs, improve competition, strengthen preventive care, and expand access to primary care.”

“Would you support a completely government-run healthcare system?”

“No.”

The answer came immediately.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t believe ideology should determine whether people receive treatment.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“So you want a mixed system?”

“I want a functional system.”

I smiled slightly.

“That’s not a political answer.”

“No.”

His eyes met mine.

“It’s a presidential answer.”

For the first time, I almost laughed.

He was difficult.

Very difficult.

⸻

QUESTION SIX

“America is experiencing an enormous technological transformation, particularly with artificial intelligence. What concerns you most about AI?”

This time, Gideon looked toward the camera for a moment.

Then back at me.

“Power without accountability.”

I stopped.

He continued.

“Artificial intelligence will change medicine, education, manufacturing, defense, finance, and nearly every industry we know.”

“But?”

“But technology moves faster than institutions.”

He leaned forward.

“If private companies can develop systems capable of influencing elections, markets, information, and national security without meaningful oversight, eventually the government will be responding to consequences instead of preventing them.”

“So you want regulation?”

“Responsible regulation.”

“Who decides what’s responsible?”

“That’s the difficult part.”

There.

That was the first answer where Gideon admitted something wasn’t simple.

I appreciated it.

⸻

QUESTION SEVEN

“You’re thirty-five. You’re younger than many members of Congress. Some critics say you’re too young to carry the responsibilities of the presidency. What do you say to them?”

He smiled.

Barely.

“I say age and wisdom aren’t automatically the same thing.”

I smiled too.

“But?”

“But youth doesn’t automatically mean inexperience.”

He paused.

“I’ve spent most of my adult life studying government, economics, international affairs, and public administration.”

“Studying isn’t governing.”

“No.”

His answer came without defensiveness.

“That’s why I’m surrounding myself with people who have experience I don’t.”

That surprised me.

“You’re willing to admit you don’t know everything?”

“I’d be dangerous if I believed I did.”

I stopped writing.

I looked at him.

For the first time during the interview, I saw something behind the composure.

Not weakness.

Self-awareness.

⸻

QUESTION EIGHT

“Your administration will inherit enormous political pressure from Congress. What happens when members of your own party refuse to support your legislation?”

“I negotiate.”

“And if negotiation fails?”

“I compromise where compromise doesn’t violate the principles of the legislation.”

“And if they still refuse?”

“I take the argument to the American people.”

I studied him.

“Isn’t that political pressure?”

“Of course.”

“So you’re willing to pressure Congress publicly?”

“I’m willing to explain to the public why their elected representatives disagree with my administration.”

“That’s a diplomatic way of saying yes.”

Gideon’s mouth twitched.

“Perhaps.”

It was the closest thing to a smile I had seen from him.

⸻

QUESTION NINE

“Your administration will face criticism over civil rights, racial inequality, and discrimination. As the third Black president of the United States, how much of your presidency will be defined by your race?”

This time, he was silent longer.

I didn’t interrupt.

Eventually, he answered.

“My race is part of my history.”

He looked directly at me.

“But it is not the entirety of my presidency.”

I waited.

“I understand what my election represents.”

He continued.

“I understand what it means to millions of Black Americans who have never seen someone who looks like them hold this office.”

His voice softened.

“But I also have a responsibility to govern every American.”

He paused.

“Black Americans deserve a president who sees them.”

Another pause.

“White Americans deserve the same.”

“Latino Americans. Asian Americans. Native Americans. Immigrants. Rural communities. Urban communities.”

He leaned back.

“I don’t want to be remembered as the Black president.”

I looked at him.

“What do you want to be remembered as?”

His answer came quietly.

“A good president.”

I didn’t write anything for several seconds.

Because somehow, that was the most honest answer he had given me.

⸻

QUESTION TEN

I looked down at my final question.

For the first time all afternoon, I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask it.

It wasn’t about policy.

It wasn’t about economics.

It wasn’t about foreign affairs.

It was about the man sitting across from me.

I looked up.

“Mr. President-elect.”

He waited.

“You have spent your entire life surrounded by power. Your family has been powerful. Your career has been powerful. And now you are about to become the most powerful person in the country.”

I paused.

“Who are you when nobody is watching?”

The room became completely silent.

Gideon stared at me.

For several seconds, he didn’t answer.

I wondered if I had finally managed to reach something he didn’t have prepared.

Then he spoke.

“I’m still learning.”

I blinked.

“Learning what?”

“Who I am without the expectations.”

That wasn’t what I expected.

He looked toward the window.

“When you’re born into a family like mine, people decide who you’re supposed to become before you’re old enough to make the decision yourself.”

His voice remained controlled.

“But eventually, you have to decide whether you’re living your life or fulfilling someone else’s.”

I didn’t move.

“Have you decided?”

Gideon looked back at me.

“Not completely.”

There was something about that answer.

Something human.

The interview was supposed to be about the next president of the United States.

Instead, for one brief moment, I was looking at Gideon.

Just Gideon.

Not President-elect Vance.

Not Senator Vance.

Not the son of Marcus and Evelyn Vance.

Just a thirty-five-year-old man who had spent his entire life becoming exactly what everyone expected him to become.

And perhaps had never stopped to ask what he wanted.

The producer finally raised his hand.

The interview was over.

The camera light turned off.

I closed my notebook.

“Thank you, Mr. Vance.”

“Thank you.”

I stood.

So did he.

For a moment, we simply looked at one another.

Then Gideon said,

“You asked good questions.”

I smiled.

“I was told you were difficult.”

“Who told you that?”

“Everyone.”

He almost smiled.

“Everyone is usually wrong.”

“Are they?”

His eyes stayed on mine.

“Not always.”

I walked toward the door.

Then I heard him say my name.

“Rin.”

I turned.

“Yes?”

“Question ten.”

I waited.

“You should ask yourself the same question sometime.”

I didn’t know what to say.

So I simply nodded.

“Good night, Mr. President-elect.”

“Good night, Rin.”

I walked out.

The door closed behind me.

And for the first time since I had entered that room, I allowed myself to breathe.

I had gone there to understand how Gideon Vance intended to govern America.

I left understanding something else.

He was going to be difficult to predict.

And somehow, that made me want to know him even more.