Chapter 2

My father, the late Senator Chavez, was a legend in Washington. He was also paranoid. He left me an old, encrypted hard drive, telling me it was "insurance." I never understood what he meant until now.

I spent the night cracking the password-Leo's birthday. Inside was a treasure trove: my father's unreleased opposition research, notes on political vulnerabilities, a blueprint of favors owed and secrets kept. It was a weapon.

My father had a protégé, a man he mentored and trusted completely. That man was now Andrew Clark, the Vice President of the United States.

For three years, the VP's office had a standing offer for me: Senior Advisor. I had always refused, out of a misplaced loyalty to Ethan.

That loyalty was now a pile of ash.

I found an old, formal letterhead from my father's Senate office. I wrote a short, simple note.

"Mr. Vice President, if your offer still stands, I accept."

I didn't sign it with my married name. I signed it Maria Chavez. I sealed the envelope with my father's old wax seal, an eagle clutching a lightning bolt. I sent it via a trusted courier directly to the VP's residence.

Then, I began my social death.

The plan was simple. I would have a "breakdown." A complete mental collapse, timed perfectly with the final weeks of Ethan's campaign. I would disappear. I would be presumed dead. And from the grave, I would orchestrate his ruin.

I felt a strange sense of calm, a chilling clarity. I walked into the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea.

Ethan came in, frowning. "The tea is wrong. You used to make it with honey."

It was a small complaint, a petulant jab from the man who was supposed to have no memory of me. He didn't even realize what he was saying.

I just looked at him, my face a blank mask. "I don't remember."

His frustration was a flicker, quickly masked by his usual confused persona. He was so committed to the role. He had no idea the play was about to end.