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Politics (Right)
Politics
bed—sheets
Margaret Voss, my lawyer, entered first in a razor-sharp gray suit. Behind her stood two uniformed police officers. Then came Mr. Hale from the bank. Then Victor, Daniel’s business partner, pale and sweating. Finally came Lena—the woman Daniel once dismissed as “just an assistant”—clutching a folder against her chest like armor.
Daniel’s expression went blank.
“What the hell is this?” he barked.
I gestured toward the dining room. “Breakfast.”
Nobody smiled.
Margaret sat beside me. The officers stayed standing. Mr. Hale opened his briefcase. Victor avoided eye contact entirely. Lena’s hands trembled as she slowly sat down.
Evelyn’s pearls rattled softly against her throat. “Daniel, tell these people to leave.”
Daniel shoved his chair backward. “Everyone out. Right now.”
One officer stepped forward. “Mr. Mercer, sit down.”
Daniel froze.
For the first time in years, nobody obeyed him.
I placed a tablet at the center of the table and pressed play.
His voice filled the room.
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