Executive Engagement

At the heart of this issue is which direction the Senator will lend her support—either for protecting the climate or preserving American jobs. The Governor has recently signed a signature piece of legislation that seeks to make New York State independent from foreign oil and resources as well as provide a cleaner and less polluted future. The Mayor of New Kingston however is looking to bring back the jobs that have decimated his town. In a surprise coup, he was able to secure the commitments to invest and open several ore processing and refining factories within the town, guaranteeing an increase of 10,000 jobs and a boost to the local economy.

However, the two paths forward are diametrically opposed to one another. The factories that the mayor secured from Boltiador Enterprises would run afoul of the new legislation. Into this feud the Senator has decided to weigh in as she gets into a complicated history between the two men. Supporting either side would all but kill the other side’s position and determine the course of the state’s domestic policy in regard to the environment and jobs for the next several years.

The romantic relationship that may or may not exist between the Senator and either of the men further complicates matters and brings a closer eye to what must be frenzied negotiations behind closed doors.

New Kingston residents who have seen the Mayor and the Senator are adamant in their belief that the two are involved romantically while those who know the Governor are speaking on the condition of anonymity that there have been intimate encounters between the two. Neither side is acknowledging the issue at this point, but photographs have shown her in a variety of close encounters with both men that have only furthered speculation.

To perhaps add an even stranger twist to the entire situation is the fact that the Communist Party representative who serves as the Mayor of Shanghai has been openly advocating for the Boltiador family to open their factories in China. Sources who are close to the situation describe a powder keg that is ready to explode with one wrong move. It will be up to the voters to the media to see who lights the first match.

Liam

I swear to fucking God I just want to throw this fucking tablet across the room and break it into a million different pieces.

I thought I’d take the morning to enjoy reading the newspaper

But what else is fucking new nowadays when I read the newspaper. The New York Daily Journal might as well be called the gossip column on me, that fucker Carter, and Vivian.

We’ve had four meetings in the last two weeks and each time I’ve tried to get close to Vivian, she puts her defenses up. Either the newspaper is right and she’s fucking Carter or she’s playing us both.

It almost wouldn't be so bad if Vivian wasn’t fucking Carter. You know, in addition to that one time she had sex with me. Oh, she hasn’t said anything to me about her and him at all, but fucking ‘well placed sources’ report that the fucking Governor is spending way too much time in Albany with his office door closed whenever Vivian Hawthorne is visiting.

What the fuck am I even bothering myself with this shit for? I’m acting like a lovesick kid in high school. Yeah, Vivian was a great fuck. She has a fucking smoking body, sure. She’s got tits you just want to grab and squeeze and suck. An ass you want to smack. Legs that go on forever. Jesus, even her fucking neck is beautiful. And that pussy. Jesus fucking Christ that tight pussy is worth its fucking weight in gold.

But at the end of the day, this woman knows what it's like out there. Hell, she’s played the field a lot longer than me. This is one powerful broad we’re talking about here. She used to be a fucking Democrat. Then she became a Republican. Then she went Independent.

Don’t look at me like that, okay? I did my fucking research on her after we fucked. I know what kind of person I’m fucking dealing with. And let me tell you; you do not want to fuck around with her. That’s for goddamn sure.

Of course I’ve learned it's important to know all about my enemies. I mean, they may not be enemies the way some of the people here had enemies when they went out to fight in wars. But if they’re like the people who were out there in the shale oil fields of North Dakota when I was first wildcatting, or the corporate boardroom snakes that I had to deal with, they were a whole different level of dangerous.

Too many fucking times, people came at me with a hand reached out for a fucking embrace while they smiled and hid a knife behind their back. The only that fucking saved me was knowing what they were all about. And I mean knowing every single fucking thing. What they liked, didn’t like, who they fucked, who they loved, you name it. So if another wildcatter was trying to steal me out of my claim to a piece of land, you can be damn sure I fucking knew that he had a mistress in Montana while his wife was waiting for him in Tennessee. A few years later, if a private equity banker was trying to take pieces of my company public and forcing my hand, I knew how to deal with him because I knew all his fucking deepest darkest secrets. I knew that he was visiting a fucking Thai massage place every other day during lunch for a rub and tug. I knew that he had incorporated himself to pay less in taxes. So when he did finally push too far, I knew exactly how to snap back against him.

That's how I know who I’m fucking dealing with Carter and Vivian. Jesus Christ, Carter Andrews is a real piece of work, you know that? Son of the real estate developer that built Andrews Estates in the Bronx. Yeah, that hell hole that cops were even afraid to go into almost 30 years ago. Sure, it’s cleaned up somewhat now, but it used to be a piece of shit. The NYPD had a fucking precinct office across the street because they were there every fucking night. Someone was always getting stabbed, shot, beaten up, or raped. They used to sell drugs in the stairwells. Hookers used to walk up and down the fucking walkways inside the Estates during the fucking day.

The bitch of it is, that the Estates were built in the 1950s as a pla

ce for returning veterans from Korea and all the other wars to settle down in. Have a nice, comfortable middle class life. And sure, it may have been like that for a while. But then like all fucking wealthy billionaires, the property was built, the city paid all the fees and shit that the developers charged, and then because it was affordable housing, people just forgot about it. And by forget, that means they forgot about the people who ended up moving in there too.

How do I know all this?

Because I fucking grew up there. I fucking walked past the Irish gangs that roamed the hallways, looking to recruit me. I used to walk back from school with books inside a pizza box so that the kids wouldn’t hassle me. Because if they saw me with books, they would have kicked my fucking ass.

But then I started growing up. I started working out. Playing sports. And I started getting bigger. That’s when it got even fucking worse. Now they wanted to pick a fight to see if they could beat me.

My parents both had jobs, mind you. They both worked every day of their lives, till they died. God rest both their souls.

But I never forgot where I grew up. And why it was like that. Because people stopped caring about the everyday American. And those people had no fucking voice.

Because of elites like Carter Andrews. And his father.

That’s why the fucking environment can kiss my fucking ass right now. People in this town need jobs. They need dignity.

But Vivian Hawthorne? Sure, she’s a blue blood. Family came over on the Mayflower. Dad ran a successful asset management business.

But from everything I can tell, this woman doesn't take any shit. She’s a strong, independent woman. She knows what she wants. And she goes after and gets it.

But along the way, she doesn’t put any skeletons in her closet either. She’s good. Too good.

But that’s the problem, right now. Because people who….