The Politician

The senator first met Rielle in early 2006 when he was in New York during a cross-​country speaking tour with actor Da

Born Lisa Druck and raised in Ocala, Florida, she had dropped out of college and moved to New York City in her early twenties. Drawn to the cocaine-​fueled fast life enjoyed by young artists, writers, and fashion models, she quickly earned a reputation as a sexually liberated party girl. She briefly dated the writer Jay McInerney (Bright Lights, Big City) and inspired the repulsive character Alison Poole, who appears in two of his books. In 1991, she married attorney Alexander Hunter and changed her name to Rielle Hunter. (This new name allowed her to escape the shame associated with her infamous father, who had participated in a horse-​killing insurance scam.) Rielle did a little acting, produced a short film, and in 2002 appeared on a TV game show. She had studied Eastern and New Age religion for years, seeking some special understanding of her place in this world and whatever lies beyond. By the time she saw John Edwards, she had lived much of her life on the edge of glamour, wealth, and enlightenment but was, at forty-​one, divorced, unemployed, and living rent-​free with a friend in New Jersey named Margaret “Mimi” Hockman.

According to Rielle, when she first saw John Edwards, she noticed “an aura” of energy floating over him. When she made eye contact with the senator, she knew their destinies were intertwined, and that she had been sent to Earth to serve him. His “old soul” had known her “old soul” in a previous life, she said. She asked him if he was the candidate she had seen on television. After he identified himself, she said, “You’re so hot, but on television that doesn’t come through. You seem distant. I can help you with that.”

Rielle said that Edwards gave off an “energy” that told her he could be a powerful force for peace and progress, like Martin Luther King Jr. She decided immediately that she would devote herself to helping him reach this potential. This assistance would begin later, after she arranged to bump into him on the sidewalk, where she would flirt some more.

As Rielle later told Cheri and me, she recognized that the senator was married and her attraction was mixed with a feeling that he was somehow “dangerous.” But when he gave her one of the key cards for his room, she waited a few minutes and then followed him upstairs. Inside the room, they sat for a while on separate beds (she was trying to play hard to get). Rielle said he got her to come over to the bed where he was relaxing by saying, “Hey, c’mere and watch some TV with me.̶ k wi1;

I first encountered Rielle Hunter in the flesh at Dulles International Airport, outside Washington, when I met a plane bringing the senator in for a meeting I had arranged with a donor who would become one of his most important supporters. Rielle was with him as they walked into the baggage claim area, and when I went to grab the senator’s luggage, he said, “No, Andrew, help Rielle with hers.”

He introduced her to me as a filmmaker who was going to make brief documentaries-called “webisodes”-that would air on the Internet and bypass the media to co

On that day at the airport, Rielle and I weren’t in each other’s company for more than a few minutes, as she took her bag and went off on her own. But something in the way the senator looked at her, or maybe it was the way she looked at him, made me decide I wouldn’t say a word about her to the senator during the hour-​long drive to a district of estates and Thoroughbred horse farms called Upperville in Virginia. I needed him to focus on the person we were going to visit and the opportunity she represented.

At ninety-​five years of age, Rachel Lambert “Bu

In 2006, Bu

As I recalled for the senator, Mrs. Mellon had sent her private jet-a Dessault Falcon capable of transatlantic flights-to bring Bryan and me from Raleigh to the mile-​long private airstrip at her estate. (The interior of the jet was decorated with paintings from the National Gallery of Art, to which she was a major donor.) When we arrived, one of her staff drove me past statues of Paul Mellon’s four greatest hor kr gses, including Sea Hero, a Kentucky Derby wi

Mrs. Mellon was the last of a dying breed, the closest thing to royalty in America. As a child she played in the White House, and as a woman she dined with kings and queens. But I was impressed to discover that she lived in a relatively small, graceful home in a secluded spot, where she welcomed us with Bloody Marys, lunch, and fascinating stories of her relationships with John F. Ke

Remarkably, the senator had actually resisted going to meet Mrs. Mellon, and he had come only because I had insisted. Now, as we drove through Upperville and his jaw dropped at the sight of the houses, he said, “Shit, Andrew, these people have real money,” and was glad he’d said yes. (The senator often gawked at the homes, offices, airplanes, and similar signs of wealth displayed by others. He would also ask me if the people he met were “rich like me” or “really, really rich.”)

After we were admitted to the Mellon property by an armed guard, we drove past a North Carolina flag and EDWARDS FOR PRESIDENT signs that Bu

In the few hours we spent with Bu