Chapter 2: Cake, Grief, and the Family Name

I’m dead. The one who cried the hardest was my Chief of Staff.

Chief of Staff Curtis threw himself in front of the memorial portrait, wailing so hard he nearly fainted.

“My leader’s fate is bitter… My leader’s fate is bitter…”

Curtis sounded like a die-hard Eagles fan after a last-second Super Bowl loss—a raw, guttural sound that made the room go still.

Someone tried to calm him, warning him not to speak nonsense, saying the late President had many children and died peacefully of old age.

Curtis was so angry his eyes turned red. He shoved the man aside. “Have you ever seen someone in their forties die of old age?”

Yeah, I’m only forty-five this year.

I thought I still had plenty of time.

Seeing Curtis getting more and more worked up, I walked over and patted his shoulder.

This old guy has a bad heart. What if he gets too upset and joins me in the afterlife?

He’s been through two heart surgeries and still refuses to cut back on the bacon at Sunday brunch. A stubborn old coot, but loyal as they come.

The moment my hand landed, Curtis’s whole body stiffened, wild joy flashing in his eyes as he turned to look at me in disbelief.

But when he saw who it was, the light in his eyes instantly faded.

“So it’s… the Vice President.”

Curtis bowed and saluted, his body slowly sinking down.

I blinked, a little moved.

Then I patted his shoulder again. “Chief, take care of yourself. Before my dad passed, he told me again and again that your heart isn’t well, and you mustn’t grieve too much. The country still needs you.”

At these words, Curtis sobbed even harder, dropping to his knees in front of my portrait.

My Secretary of Defense was crying too, but nowhere near as sincerely as Curtis.

He was weeping while sneakily picking at the buffet in the adjacent reception room.

There’s always one at every wake—the guy who can’t resist the food, no matter how somber the occasion. This time, it was Ryan, already hovering by the buffet, eyeing the carrot cake like it was the last slice on earth.

I sniffed. Mm, it’s the carrot cake made by White House Chef Gina—moist, sweet, and just the way she used to make it for my birthday.

Taking advantage of the curtain nearby, I quietly squatted beside the Secretary, then broke every etiquette rule in the book and grabbed a hunk of carrot cake—moist, sweet, and just the way Chef Gina used to make it for my birthday.

Yes, that’s the taste.

I’d been sick for so long, the White House doctors wouldn’t let me eat, saying it was bad for my health and not good for my recovery.

I’d been craving this for ages.

The Secretary of Defense stared at me in shock as I took one piece after another from the plate.

“Uh… Mr. Vice President… You have a good appetite…”

I waved my hand, still chewing. “Just had a craving.”

“Uncle likes carrot cake too?”

Yep, this is the First Lady’s younger brother, my brother-in-law, Secretary of Defense Ryan Keller.

Ryan scratched his head, embarrassed. “I’m just hungry.”

I nodded knowingly. This kid’s big, gets hungry fast, and runs drills with the troops every day. It’s tough work.

Ryan could put away half a brisket by himself after a morning on the shooting range. When he blushes, his ears go red as Nebraska clay.

So I just took down the whole plate of carrot cake, and another plate of brownies.

“Eat.”

Ryan looked flattered. “This… this really isn’t proper.”

My legs were numb from squatting, so I just sat down on the floor. “Eat. I just asked Dad, he won’t blame us.”

I sat there, chewing cake and looking up at my own portrait.

Damn, what is this situation?

Trying to live up to the family name, still working for America.

I wondered, not for the first time, if anyone would ever believe this story. Maybe the carrot cake was the real afterlife reward.