The President's Office.
Outside, the staff members were all distracted from their work, their heads tilted to one side, as though they were listening to something.
"What is everyone doing?"
Chivanton walked in and, noticing the odd behavior of his colleagues, couldn't help but ask in confusion.
"Shh!" A Mediterranean-looking man whispered, lowering his voice. "The boss is throwing a fit. It seems to be because of Martin winning the bid."
Chivanton was stunned. "How could that be? Didn't he just tell everyone a couple of days ago that he and Martin were good buddies?"
The Mediterranean man shrugged. "How would I know?"
Chivanton immediately felt a headache coming on. It was bad enough having a president with questionable intelligence, but to make matters worse, his mood kept shifting unpredictably. It was exhausting, really!
Chivanton walked toward the office.
The Mediterranean man grabbed him in surprise. "You're going in? Right now?"
Chivanton waved the file folder in his hand. "I have work to do. I can't avoid going in!"
He didn't want to be the punching bag during the President's emotional outbursts, but—damn it, for work, for the money!
As the President's most trusted liaison, Chivanton had certain privileges, such as being able to enter the President's office without knocking—though this was only applicable to the office.
Opening the door, he saw a furious middle-aged man throwing things and cursing:
"Goddamn it, how the hell did Martin find out?"
"Who the hell told him about the UAE oil field auction details?"
"Goddamn it, the Texas Oil Group morons failed! I spent so much effort to get that intel!"
Chivanton was dumbfounded. The President's mental state seemed to be deteriorating—did he even forget his own actions?
Indeed, he had forgotten. He didn't remember that he had been so friendly with Martin, that he had shared important information with him, or that he had publicly declared Martin to be his good buddy multiple times...
Martin had used a temporary hypnotic magic on the President. He wasn't interested in wasting magic on him long-term.
If he ever needed to use him again, he'd simply do it again.
Martin only used his powers on those close to him, long enough to be able to control them completely.
"Chivanton, you damn bastard, tell me, is it you? Did you leak the information?"
Seeing his trusted aide enter, the President directed all his anger at him.
Chivanton didn't want to take the blame, so he said, "Mr. President, everyone knows it was you who mentioned the UAE oil field auction to Martin. I didn't tell him anything."
In truth, Chivanton couldn't even remember. Martin first learned about the auction from him.
"You didn't tell Martin? Oh really? Then who else could it have been? Wait—"
"What did you just say?"
"You said I told Martin about the UAE oil field auction? When did I say that?"
"Mr. President, it was on the 10th of last month, at 3:00 PM. You met with Martin after being persuaded by Mr. Donald. It was then that you talked about the auction with him." Chivanton answered, calm and collected.
The President pointed to his nose, a confused look on his face. "How come I don't remember?"
Chivanton thought, How the hell should I know?
Outwardly, he responded helplessly, "You not only told Martin about the auction, but you also kept telling people that Martin is your good buddy. A lot of people know about it."
"I said... Martin is my good buddy? How the hell can I be his good buddy?"
Just as President Bush doubted whether his trusted aide was betraying him, the phone rang.
He picked it up, and on the other end, there was a loud barrage of complaints from the chairman of the oil group.
Twenty minutes later, after being thoroughly scolded, President Bush hung up the phone.
Now he believed that it was indeed his own mistake. He slapped his forehead in frustration, muttering:
"Damn it, my memory is getting worse and worse! That guy (Martin) must have used something to mess with me. Uh, what did he give me in return?"
Not able to remember anything, Bush turned to Chivanton.
Chivanton thought, What the hell... but had to respond, "Mr. President, I wasn't there at the time. Maybe you should try to remember more clearly?"
Neither of them suspected that Martin had used any extraordinary means, because President Bush was just the type of man with the "memory of a goldfish."
Well, saying "goldfish memory" might be a bit extreme, but his memory was indeed poor, and his intelligence wasn't exactly high either.
In fact, members of the Bush family didn't have high IQs. President Bush's father, Old Bush, had an IQ just over 90, leading many to suspect it was the result of close kin marriages.
In the future, in an attempt to prove that his family wasn't mentally deficient, Old Bush had his younger son, Jeb Bush, take an IQ test. The result? A score of 160.
Old Bush proudly announced that their family was not mentally challenged.
But then, the media revealed that the test had been rigged, and Jeb had received the answers before the test.
Perhaps if Jeb hadn't scored so high, the media wouldn't have dug so deep. After all, an IQ of 160 is considered genius-level.
From this perspective, Bush's own intelligence really wasn't that great!
Of course, in America, being president didn't require high intelligence. What mattered most was one's background and the strength of the financial forces behind them—oh, and the ability of their think tanks to persuade voters.