The Measure(29)

The Hunters had always been respected within Virginia society and military circles—those who didn’t enlist in the army became state senators and board chairs—but Anthony and Katherine’s foray into national politics had raised the family’s profile to unforeseen heights. And though Anthony had surprised everyone by declaring his presidential candidacy before acquiring much name recognition outside his home state, the Hunters collectively vowed to help get him elected.

“I know I promised Aunt Katherine that I would go, but is it really necessary for me to be at all these rallies?” Jack asked his father on the phone that night. “I’m worried I’ll fall behind on studying,” he explained, “and I swore I would get to the gym more this semester, and—”

“This is your family, Jack. And families support each other,” his father said. “Especially ones like ours.”

Jack loved his aunt Katherine, he wanted to support her, but he never understood what she saw in Anthony, other than breeding and a strong jawline. It was Anthony who had inadvertently revealed to him that his conception was unintentional, when a young Jack had listened, from the top of the stairs, as his aunt and uncle conferred with his father, soon after his mother left. It was one of Jack’s only childhood memories that remained sharp to this day, hardening over time the more he returned to it.

“Let’s just keep this within the family for now, as quiet as possible,” Jack’s dad had insisted, unaware of his eavesdropping son. “I don’t want people talking.”

“Honestly, you’re better off without her,” said Katherine. “She was never quite . . . aligned with the rest of the family. And at least you have sweet little Jack.”

“Just make sure he’s not too sweet.” Anthony laughed, and Katherine scolded her husband with a click of her tongue.

“You’re right, I’m sure Jack will be fine,” he added. “And who would’ve thought that getting knocked up was the only good thing that woman would ever do? We were so worried about the liability, but . . . now you’ve got your legacy.”

Jack was too little to comprehend in the moment, but he later asked his cousin to explain what Anthony had meant. In the coming years, whenever Jack felt like a stranger in his own family, he could trace that sensation right back to the stairs, when Anthony had casually mocked him, framed his very existence as an accident.

Jack had hated his uncle ever since.

And, truthfully, a part of Jack was always envious that Anthony had earned the acceptance—indeed, the approval—of the notoriously critical Hunter brood without even considering service in the army, while Jack was grinding his way through a military school he never wanted to attend.

As his uncle gained political prominence, Jack found him increasingly abrasive and insincere, his ego growing at an unconstrained clip. Every time he came calling for a campaign favor—or, more likely, asked Katherine to call on his behalf—Jack thought about his comments, his laughter, that night downstairs with Jack’s dad.



By the springtime, Jack clung to two slivers of hope: his imminent graduation from the academy, and the recent arrival of the strings.

Though the timing of their appearance may have diverted attention from Anthony’s slew of bad press, Jack felt convinced that the strings would ultimately spell the end of his uncle’s campaign—and the end of Jack’s own proximity to the limelight. Something so cataclysmic, so frightfully unknown, would inevitably require a familiar face in the White House, a tried-and-true candidate whom everybody recognized, with the training to handle this unusual moment and calm the nation’s nerves. Surely this would call for a seasoned secretary of state, perhaps a former vice president, someone with decades of experience weathering such times of perilous change as the world faced now.

Anthony Rollins was a congressional novice, riding on the coattails of the Hunter family. He had never gone to war; he had never led through crises. He couldn’t possibly win now.

And Jack was relieved.





Javier




Jack Hunter and Javier García had been roommates since their first year at the academy, perfectly paired, as both were more introverted than their fellow cadets—not to mention a few inches shorter and more than a few pounds lighter.

At first Javier had depended on Jack for guidance. Javier was the first in his family to even attend college, whereas military medals hung like ornaments from every branch of Jack’s family tree. Jack’s second cousin had recently graduated from the academy herself, and Jack knew the history and traditions, the ins and outs of campus, the way only a legacy could.

It wasn’t until their third or fourth week that Javier started to see the real Jack, to realize that all those decorations in fact weighed heavily on the branches, nearly causing them to splinter.

When a handful of new cadets announced their plans to get “Death Before Dishonor” tattooed on their forearms, Jack thought they were nuts.

“Not a fan of tattoos?” Javier had asked him.

“Not a fan of the sentiment,” Jack answered.

In daily training, it was painfully clear that Jack wasn’t as fast, as strong, or as innately disciplined as most of the other cadets, and many of them were all too eager to prove themselves superior to a member of the eminent Hunter tribe.

One night, early in the fall, one of the brawnier guys recognized Jack’s last name from a school plaque honoring his great-grandfather and challenged him to a fistfight.