Cameras begin flashing again, and they don't stop for what seems like forever.
"From this day forward," I say, "I promise that there won't be anymore secrets. I'm proud of who I am; I'm proud of the life that Amy and I are building together."
Reporters are still clapping, and now I hear them begin to cheer.
"I'm also proud to call myself your Mayor, and look forward to taking my enthusiasm for public service, as well as my resolve, into my bid for US Senate. If you're willing to follow me on that journey, I urge each and every one of you to vote for me in this year's Congressional election."
The applause coming from the room is now palpable. It almost feels like a slow rumble beneath my feet, like a herd of buffalo migrating to greener pastures.
I'm back, I think to myself.
For the first time in weeks, I feel like I'm really back in this political race, and that try as hard as she might, Gover
nor Kate Meelios can't touch us.
She can't take us down.
This feeling is sealed when I hear the crowd erupt into a familiar chant.
"Just ask Trask! Just ask Trask! Just as Trask!"
I smile again and wave to crowd.
Yes, I'm back.
And it feels so good.
Amy
This is it, the final showdown, I think to myself, forehead pressed against the limo’s window as we roll down the deserted streets. The National Guard is already on their way to my company’s offices, and Parker and I are heading there to stop them. Or, well, try to. I don’t really see what we can do, but Parker seems confident enough to give me just a sliver of hope.
The NYPD has already closed off the streets and evacuated the block where I have my offices, all to try and stop this from turning into a bloodbath. There’s an eerie feeling in the air, and I can’t help but feel anxious about the whole thing. It's show time, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.
“We’re here, sir,” the limo driver tells us politely, halting the limo right in front of the building where just weeks ago we had a standoff with the state troopers.
“Let’s go,” Parker tells me, squeezing my hand in his and opening the door on his side of the limo. He steps outside into the cold New York morning sun and I follow after him, straightening the front of my dress nervously.
There are at least twenty NYPD cars parked in the street in front of my building, each of them carrying at least five police officers. And that’s just the regular force—aside from them, there are also two SWAT teams and a full platoon of NYPD officers in riot gear.
“She’ll be here anytime now,” Parker tells me and, as if to compliment his words, the sound of helicopters closing in on us echoes throughout the street. I look up at the sky, anxiety gripping my heart, and then two helicopters come into view, their rotary blades raising a wind that lashes at my hair. Ignoring the battalion of NYPD officers, they land right in the middle of the street, and camouflaged soldiers start pouring out in a rush, clutching their heavy rifles to their chests.
She wasn’t kidding; she really brought the National Guard into this.
I look down the street as the roar of heavy engines reach my ears, and I do it just in time to see a parade of armored vehicles heading toward the blockade the NYPD has set up. More soldiers pour from the armored trucks, a few of them barking orders and bringing everyone into formation.
Okay, this is seriously getting out of hand.
One of the soldiers that came on the helicopter starts walking toward Parker, his rifle slung over his shoulder, and stops just a few feet away from him.
“Sir, we’re going to shut down your… stepdaughter’s business,” he says with a harsh edge, the seniority of his rank coming through his voice, and then waves at the apparatus surrounding us. “You know there isn’t a happy ending to be had from pitting the NYPD against the National Guard, sir, so it’s my duty to ask you to stand down. Let us do our job.”
“I know where you’re coming from, soldier,” Parker responds stoically, standing his ground. “But it’s also my duty to stand up to sociopathic politicians. Which is what I’m doing here. It’s high time someone stops this so-called governor.”
“Sir, this is --”
“I’m not getting out of the way, soldier, so if you want to shoot me just do it already,” Parker cuts him short, lowering his voice and balling his hands into fists. The soldier stares at him for a few seconds, the air around them crackling with electric tension, and then he just snaps his heels together and turns around, walking back to the helicopters.
“I think you better head home, Amy,” Parker whispers, looking at me with concerned eyes. “This might get ugly.”