Franklin Foster stood on the steps of the Lakeport Development Authority, watching the black sedan carry Ambrose Ward away until the vehicle disappeared around the bend of the main boulevard. Only then did he allow himself to let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for an hour. His shirt was damp with cold sweat, sticking to his back despite the humid breeze.
He felt like a man who had just finished a high-stakes poker game with a titan, only to realize he’d barely managed to keep his seat at the table. Ambrose Ward was unlike any Governor’s Cadet he had ever encountered. The young man didn’t just carry a mandate; he carried a heavy, invisible political capital that made the very air in the interrogation room feel pressurized.
Before Franklin could even turn back toward the build
