Excerpt
PROLOGUE THERE’S A REASON people don’t remember Eisenhower’s face. And there’s a reason they’ll never forget his. John Fitzgerald Kennedy didn’t look like a president. He looked like a movie star who wandered into the West Wing. Hair perfect. Smile perfect. Voice made of velvet and command. He wasn’t just the leader of the free world. He was a broadcast. And America was glued to the screen. They called it Camelot, like it was some golden era. But that was never real. That was myth from the jump. What was real was something stranger. A young man, chronically ill, privately reckless, politically brilliant, and publicly untouchable. He didn’t grind his way to the top. He glided. He moved like...