Chapter 2 - The Grieving Widow
The morning news cycle was a bloodbath.
Every network in the state broadcast the same headline: VANGUARD MATRIARCH IN COMA FOLLOWING ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT; MANHUNT UNDERWAY FOR ROGUE AGENT JULIAN CROSS.
Genevieve played her part beautifully. Standing on the marble steps of the State Capitol, she wore a tailored black mourning suit, dabbing her dry eyes with a silk handkerchief.
"My mother-in-law, Victoria, is fighting for her life," Genevieve projected to the sea of microphones, her voice trembling with perfectly rehearsed sorrow. "In her absence, I will be stepping in to manage the Vanguard Political Action Committee and secure the Senate seat. We will not let terrorists destroy this state."
Miles away, in a damp, underground subway maintenance tunnel, Julian watched the broadcast on a stolen burner phone.
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He was bleeding from a deep laceration on his arm, but he didn't feel the pain. He pulled the titanium field pen from his pocket. The residue of the neurotoxin and the antidote was still inside the chamber.
Genevieve thought she had won the board. She thought she had the power. But she had forgotten the golden rule of the Vanguard empire: you never leave an enemy breathing.
