Charles Franklin Wright always liked firsts. During the first minute of the first day of his first term as President, as he first sat in that big leather chair, which accompanied the Resolute desk on the edge of that historic room, Charles found himself uncharacteristically overcome with utter feelings of awe and reverence.
One minute later, the sensation wore off, and Charles became the first person to desecrate that illustrious political office on the very same day that he swore to honor and uphold its integrity. He did so by blackmailing two Senators, three Congressmen, and a lobbyist into championing his first piece of legislation using illicit information acquired surreptitiously during his first term at the CIA.
President Wright was certainly a man who loved firsts, and of being first, in particular. But this day was different. This was his last day in that chair, and in that office, and in that job, and his early departure was one that was completely unplanned, and totally unforeseen. The reasons for his resignation were a first for the record books, yet this was one first he neither wanted nor relished.
Now, as he slumped into that big leather chair which was no longer his, these last few regretful minutes begrudgingly borrowed, he began scouring with tired eyes that picturesque, oval-shaped room seeking to capture one final indelible memory.
He didn't dare turn on a television, radio, or even open a newspaper; that would be too painful.