In this sweeping novel inspired by the Iran-Contra affair, master storyteller James A. Michener conjures the triumphs and tragedies of one family and their dynamic role in the history of the United States and its founding document. Over a tense weekend of reflection, Major Norman Starr of the National Security Council prepares to appear before a congressional committee to publicly account for his covert actions. Hoping to learn something from his proud, troubled heritage, Starr looks for guidance in the lives of his ancestors: all-Americans who weren’t always right. From a framer of the Constitution to a slave owner, from a Supreme Court justice to a courageous suffragist, each recalls an important legacy that Starr must somehow reconcile with his own perilous dilemma.   Praise for Legacy   “Michener has left his own legacy. . . . [He] is an educator, not just in history but in ethics, and like any good educator, he’s not afraid to confront a complex world.” —Edward Rutherfurd, Chicago Tribune   “Michener tells interesting stories about the Constitution, even if they are fiction. He brings the document alive. . . . Each tale is told with the Michener flair.” —United Press International   “An impressive amount of historical drama . . . Captivating historical vignettes [are] woven skillfully within Starr’s talks with his loving wife and loyal attorney.” — Kirkus Reviews   “A revealing book . . . about the forging of the Constitution and the crises that shaped it.” —Associated Press “Michener has left his own legacy. . . . [He] is an educator, not just in history but in ethics, and like any good educator, he’s not afraid to confront a complex world.” —Edward Rutherfurd, Chicago Tribune   “Michener tells interesting stories about the Constitution, even if they are fiction. He brings the document alive. . . . Each tale is told with the Michener flair.” —United Press International   “An impressive amount of historical drama . . . Captivating historical vignettes [are] woven skillfully within Starr’s talks with his loving wife and loyal attorney.” — Kirkus Reviews   “A revealing book . . . about the forging of the Constitution and the crises that shaped it.” —Associated Press James A. Michener was one of the world’s most popular writers, the author of more than forty books of fiction and nonfiction, including the Pulitzer Prize–winning Tales of the South Pacific, the bestselling novels The Source, Hawaii, Alaska, Chesapeake, Centennial, Texas, Caribbean, and Caravans, and the memoir The World Is My Home . Michener served on the advisory council to NASA and the International Broadcast Board, which oversees the Voice of America. Among dozens of awards and honors, he received America’s highest civilian award, the Presidential Medal of Freedom, in 1977, and an award from the President’s Committee on the Arts and Humanities in 1983 for his commitment to art in America. Michener died in 1997 at the age of ninety. THE STARRS   My bad luck started just before Christmas 1985. But at the time, as so often happens, it seemed like good luck.   I had graduated from West Point just in time to join the final fighting in the rice paddies of Vietnam. Returning with a chest full of medals, a few earned, most routine, I married Nancy Makin, a girl from Maryland whom I’d been dating whenever I found myself with stateside duty. We had spent our first three years of married life in the Panama Canal Zone, where I had the shameful task of watching as Jimmy Carter gave away that marvel of engineering to the Panamanians. My father, a colonel in the Army Reserve and a noted hero in World War II, called it mildly “the most traitorous act of any American since Aaron Burr.” And believe me, considering what Aaron Burr had done to our family as well as our nation in the early 1800s, that was a savage indictment.   It was in Panama that I mastered Spanish, which led to further assignments south of the border; and in Argentina, Chile and especially Guatemala, learning firsthand about Communist subversion on our doorstep.   I was never gung ho in my work against the Reds. That’s not my style. I don’t like to be out front unless war’s been declared and I’m in charge of troops. But no one had greater aversion to Communism than I did, after the butchery I’d seen in Nam and the cruel behavior in Guatemala.   I’ve never known whether it was my familiarity with Latin American Communism or my Spanish that accounted for the unexpected promotion, but on 10 December 1985, I received orders to leave my duty station in Cartagena, Colombia, where we were trying to stanch the flow of cocaine into the States, and report to the Pentagon.   Nancy rejoiced at what she called “a long-overdue assignment,” not only because it meant a promotion, which I needed if I was ever going to make colonel, but also because it allowed me to rejoin her in Washington, where she had established our permanent home. I appreciated the