Wakes's POV
The federal holding cell smelled like disinfectant, but I'd endured worse conditions during my rise to power. What I couldn't endure was the humiliation—Wakes Savage, reduced to orange jumpsuits and scheduled meal times, photographed in handcuffs for the world's entertainment.
But humiliation was temporary. Power, properly wielded, was eternal.
"Visitor," the guard announced at 2:47 AM, three days after my arrest. Unusual timing, but then again, nothing about this situation had been usual.
I expected another lawyer, another crisis manager, another highly paid professional trying to navigate the legal catastrophe my wife had created. Instead, the man who entered the visitor's room was someone I recognized but had never spoken to directly.
Senator Richard Morrison. The same
