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  “Mr. President, you’re leaving the White House at a time when many thousands of protestors have gathered outside the fence. Do you fear for your family’s safety?”

  The president paused and then turned to the reporters. “Naturally, I fear for the safety of my family when you have an angry mob surrounding your home. I do, however, have every confidence in the Capitol Police and the Secret Service, who’ve done an admirable job of protecting us and the people’s house.”

  “Sir, Senator Booker has stated that the protestors have every right to be heard, and that the extraordinary action of calling in the National Guard to quell dissent is an affront to Americans’ First Amendment rights of free speech. How do you respond?”

  “I understand the passions of the moment. But I would say to the senator, and others from my own cabinet who’ve stoked the flames of division in our great country, your words have meaning. Millions of Americans listen carefully to you. Given the rhetoric, would it be any surprise that some are willing to do anything, including making physical threats against my family and sending threatening messages to my son at school?”

  The president paused, and then his face was overcome with anger. “They’ve insinuated threats against all of my children and even my closest friends. They’ve threatened to blow me up and take me down.”

  The reporter interrupted the president. “But, sir, surely you don’t mean to imply that the senator’s comments and those of your own party are respons—”

  The president closed on the reporter, causing the press gaggle to back up a step. “Let’s get something straight. The coordinated strategy to destroy my presidency was soundly rebuked at the polls. Their further attempts to undermine the will of the people will have long-lasting effects on our republic.” He looked directly into the camera of one of the cable news networks.

  “You’ve sown the seeds of discord into the wind. I fear our great country will reap the whirlwind for decades to come.”

  The president had summarized a proverb from the Old Testament that meant one will suffer the consequences of his own actions.

  “Mr. President, another question, please?”

  The president took a deep breath and calmed his nerves. He’d just given the press a rare glimpse into a temper he normally reserved for behind-closed-doors meetings. It showed a crack in his demeanor that needed to be kept private until these hearings were completed.

  “Go ahead,” said the president.

  “Mr. President, going into the New Year, how confident are you that you will prevail?”

  He chuckled and smiled. “What they did a few weeks ago, in an attempt to overturn the will of the people, was nothing short of a coup d’état. I’m very disappointed in those members of the cabinet and my former vice president for the choices they made. That said, let me remind you that their efforts didn’t work. They worked overtime to undermine my presidency and have me defeated at the ballot box.

  “They failed, so a new tactic was needed. They were lying in wait, ready to use the so-called nuclear option of invoking the Twenty-Fifth Amendment. I believe their letter to Congress was waiting to be submitted long before the election, but these Washington swamp creatures couldn’t afford to lose the White House, so they waited. Once the election was certified, they fired this salvo.

  “Well, I’m a fighter. When you punch me, I’ll block it and then throw my counterpunch. This fight is just beginning, and so is the storm. Thank you.”

  The president walked away, and despite the barrage of additional questions, he simply waved his arm as if to say goodbye.

  Hayden exhaled, realizing for the first time that she’d been holding her breath during the entire exchange. They’d implored the president to stay off Twitter and avoid controversial statements to the media with the important Supreme Court arguments upcoming. She felt like today’s remarks were appropriate considering the righteous indignation the president was entitled to under the circumstances.

  Hayden powered off the television and turned when she became startled at the sudden appearance of Cipollone in her office. He was gazing out her office windows down upon Lafayette Square and the fully illuminated White House just beyond it.

  “I apologize for startling you, Blount,” he said, referring to her by her last name, as was his practice. He spoke in his typically calm voice. She’d never seen him angry or excited. He was like a robot with nerves of steel and a brain wired by artificial intelligence.

  “That’s fine, sir. It’s been a long day and I became engrossed in the president’s remarks to the press. I’ve been trying to monitor his public statements and social media posts in order to address any new issues that might arise.”

  Cipollone chuckled and removed his wire-rimmed glasses. He was wearing his signature charcoal gray suit and a red power tie. He was a complex man who exuded a strikingly consistent exterior.

  “He needs our help. Storm clouds have been brewing over the president for years, but it’s more than that. Much larger than this president, in fact. This is a challenge to the office of the presidency itself and the ability of future presidents to govern.”

  Hayden joined his side. She shook her head as she observed the throngs of protestors that encircled the White House grounds. Lafayette Square had become a tent city and an outdoor restroom for the protestors to relieve themselves.

  “He said as much during his responses to the media,” she added.

  “I heard, and I have to say he has been remarkably restrained. But you know, the reporting of this press gaggle will be far different from the words the man said.”

  “Naturally, sir.”

  “Blount, mob rule cannot win out. Political partisanship cannot hamstring the occupant of the White House, regardless of party, with constant threats of impeachment and endless congressional investigations hanging like a thundercloud over an administration’s head. America will lose respect internationally, and confidence in the office of the presidency will be eroded among the American people.”

  Hayden pressed her index finger against the tall plate-glass window. “Look at the protestors. Their numbers have been increasing for weeks despite the holidays and the inclement weather. Now that the president has left for Florida, I doubt they’ll disperse.”

  Cipollone shrugged. “You see protestors; I see an angry lynch mob who, if it wasn’t for the Capitol Police and the National Guard, would storm across the White House grounds and ravage the place like it was the presidential palace of some banana republic.”

  “It’s never been this bad,” remarked Hayden. “During the sixties and early seventies, the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War protests generated passion, but the public discourse was largely civil. Even prior to the Civil War, the so-called gentlemen spoke to one another in archaic, but civil tones.”

  “The president is trying to take a stand, although many don’t like his approach. But that’s what the ballot box is for, and our Constitution was designed to deal with situations like this. To some the Constitution is a tired, worn-out document that needs to be replaced, but until it is, we have to respect its meaning. Removing a duly elected, sitting president because you disagree with his rhetoric, or even his policies, by some means other than an election is simply unconstitutional.”

  Hayden nodded in agreement. “In response to actions he was taking while in office, the president’s predecessor once stated that elections have consequences. If that maxim is applied to one president, it should be applied to all, regardless of their political leanings.”

  Cipollone adjusted his jacket and turned toward Hayden’s desk. “Which brings us to your brief. I take it you’re satisfied and ready to let it fly?”

  Hayden checked her watch. It was almost ten o’clock. She’d planned on waiting until the last minute, but she wasn’t all that interested in riding the DC Metrorail to her home after midnight on New Year’s Eve.

  She replied, “It is, sir. I’ll affix the appropriate signatures and file it before I leave. Hopeful
ly, at least in the next seven days prior to the justices’ conference, there won’t be any bombs dropped in the media that might derail our arguments.”

  Cipollone rapped his knuckles on the edge of her desk and headed for the door. As he did, he added, “Your former boss, Justice Alito, once said, I think the legitimacy of the Court would be undermined in any case if the Court made a decision based on its perception of public opinion.”

  “I remember that, sir.”

  “Let’s trust that his opinion hasn’t changed and the other justices agree with him.”

  “I agree, sir.”

  An outburst of laughter made its way down the hallway so that it could be overheard by them. Meanwhile, above them, a financial-planning firm was having a more high-spirited affair with loud music and what sounded like a herd of buffalo thundering past but was most likely dancing.

  Cipollone looked up and laughed. “I’m not much for these things, but it’s good for the troops. Our firm is entering a new era in Washington. We’ve emerged from a boutique law firm to a powerhouse, and you’re an integral part of it.”

  Hayden blushed slightly, clearly appreciating the accolades heaped upon her by the boss. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Blount, after you file the supplemental, why don’t you join us for a celebratory drink in the conference room. It’s been a great year for this firm, and the future looks bright for us all. As our firm has been thrown into the spotlight, we face an interesting year of complications and challenges.”

  “To be sure,” Hayden interjected.

  Cipollone glanced out the window toward the White House one last time. The snowflakes had become thicker and were sticking to the glass momentarily before melting. Then he added, “Challenges not unlike the ones our client faces.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  McPherson Building

  Washington, DC

  Despite wanting to leave, Hayden did the right thing from an office-politics perspective and made an appearance at the party. She was not much of a drinker in public settings. Instead, she opted for a can of strawberry Perrier that she kept stocked in the small refrigerator located in her office. She quickly made the rounds, speaking with everyone and exchanging the obligatory New Year’s wishes before she left.

  Donning her Burberry cashmere trench coat, she loaded her briefcase and waited for the elevator. The noise from the boisterous party above her floor was amplified through the elevator shaft, causing Hayden to grimace and shake her head. Sometimes, she missed the comfort and serenity of the Blount farm in East Tennessee. After her parents had passed, she sold the property in order to live full-time in the DC metroplex.

  With a ding, the elevator announced its arrival, and without looking up, Hayden made her way into the cab. She glanced at the only other passengers in the elevator, a couple making out in the corner. The man was kissing the woman aggressively and had pulled her short dress above her waist as he pressed his body against her. Hayden forcibly cleared her throat to announce her arrival.

  “Oh, hey there,” the man said provocatively. He backed away from the younger woman, taking his time about allowing the woman’s dress to fall into place. “I didn’t know we’d have company.”

  Hayden nodded and pressed the L-lobby button without speaking.

  “She’s a party pooper,” the young woman slurred, pulling the man closer to her. “Let’s pretend she’s not there, you wanna?”

  “Hey, I like it,” he said, and the two resumed their sloppy, drunken make-out session.

  The elevator began its descent under the watchful eye of Hayden as she begged for the illuminated numbers above the door to continue dropping. Seven, six, five.

  The elevator suddenly stopped, jerking to a halt. The lights dimmed, then flickered, and eventually all power went out. At first, the cab remained still, as did its passengers. But when the elevator mechanism shook, causing the cab to move up and down slightly, the young woman shrieked.

  “What the hell?” said the man from the dark corner of the elevator.

  “John, what’s going on?” asked his oversexed friend.

  “I don’t know. Do I look like an elevator expert?” he responded rudely. He turned his attention to Hayden. “Hey, lady, push some buttons or something. Or better yet, use the phone to call somebody downstairs. It’s hot as hell in here.”

  Quit blowing hot air, and it might get better.

  Hayden smirked and fumbled through her coat for her cell phone. She had the McPherson Building’s security desk as one of her contacts. She scrolled through her phone and then dialed the number. The phone rang repeatedly.

  “No answer,” Hayden mumbled.

  “Did you call the police?” asked the young woman.

  “No, building security. I’m sure they’re working on it.”

  The man turned back to his conquest and resumed pawing her. “Come on, why waste time? Besides, maybe with a little encouragement, our new friend will join us.”

  The girl giggled and the two resumed kissing. Hayden tried the desk security again but didn’t get a response. Using her phone’s display as a light source, Hayden looked around the small elevator, wishing for an escape from the two inconsiderate gropers.

  She was comfortable knowing that safety measures were in place to prevent the cab from crashing to the bottom of the elevator shaft. What concerned her the most was the lack of oxygen and the fact there wasn’t an emergency generator system in place to provide some type of lighting and airflow.

  Hayden had experienced claustrophobia in the past. She thought she’d left the form of panic disorder behind as a child, but it began to rear its ugly head again. She began experiencing shortness of breath, and her pulse quickened as anxiety took over.

  Hayden tried to block out of her mind the cause of her phobia, a frightening day as a child when she went into a cave on the family farm and got stuck. Her playmates couldn’t help her and left to find an adult. None of them thought to stay with Hayden during the ordeal. For thirty minutes, she remained alone in the semidarkness, where she was visited by bugs and mice.

  As an eight-year-old’s mind is prone to do, fears of abandonment and even death at the hand of the critters that crawled around dark spaces overcame her. As a result, she battled her fear of confined spaces for years until, as an adult, she was able to function despite the potential of a reoccurrence.

  Her cell phone was still illuminated, which helped her define the space around her, but it also resulted in her catching an unfortunate glimpse of the progress the man was making with his conquest. Hayden was not a prude, but she was not a selfish exhibitionist either.

  She tried the security desk again and began to grow frustrated that nobody was answering. Then her mind began to race. Was the power out in the city? Had the security team been attacked as part of some elaborate robbery or takeover of the building?

  She considered the masses of people outside the White House, which was only four blocks away. Had they broken through the front entrance security and mobbed the building? Maybe they’d vandalized it as well?

  Hayden’s mind went to all of these outlandish scenarios because she’d become consumed with the news of discord sewn throughout the country. A simple thing like a power outage suddenly became something much larger.

  Then the lights flickered to life and the air fan came back on.

  The couple scampered to rearrange their clothing amidst nervous giggles. Hayden tried to ignore them and instead pressed the L button to take them to the lobby. Relief washed over her as the elevator started its descent once again.

  When it opened, she burst through the doors first and stormed across the marble floor of the lobby as fast as her Bruno Magli heels could carry her. She saw the security personnel emerge from the building’s maintenance office, but she didn’t care to wait for an explanation.

  She just wanted to get home.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mercedes-Benz Stadium

  Atlanta, Georgia

  W
ill began his patrols and building security checks after touching base with the main security office located on the field level. He’d never seen the stadium this loud and chaotic. During football games, a big play might bring the fans to their feet, screaming and cheering for their team. In a concert setting, the dancing, singing, and loud music could be overwhelming.

  Tonight, Will was assigned to the 200 Concourse, the outermost reaches of the galaxy, as the security team referred to it. In addition to being the seats closest to the retractable opening roof, the restricted areas of the uppermost concourse included utility and maintenance rooms, which housed the operations nerve center of the facility.

  He walked along the public access part of the 200 Concourse, scanning the concertgoers for suspicious activities and constantly checking for unexpected bags or packages lying around unattended. He watched for unusual spills and tried to detect any out-of-the-ordinary odors, which would indicate a bioterror attack, a task that became increasingly difficult as the night went on due to the pungent smell of marijuana, which permeated the upper levels of the stadium.

  Early on during his rounds, he slipped down to the lower levels and checked on the kids. He was relieved to see they were sitting in their assigned seats, watching the concert. He didn’t hover, as he wanted to avoid being busted double-checking on them. He wanted to establish a level of trust with Ethan and hoped his son would notice the gesture.

  Satisfied the kids were safe, Will returned to the top level and made his way into the back hallways of the 200 Concourse to inspect the facility maintenance rooms.

  “Hey, Sky, this place is cray-cray!” Ethan shouted over the music.

  “What?” came her response.

  Ethan laughed and gave his sister a playful shove. “You know, crazy. Amped. Awesome.”

  “Oh, yeah. Pretty noisy too.” She still appeared confused at the street language Ethan had picked up in high school, which hadn’t quite reached the fifth grade.