The rain started the moment the glass doors of the federal plaza hissed shut behind them. It fell in heavy, cold sheets, hammering against the black sedan idling at the curb.
Marcus drove. His long hands gripped the leather steering wheel so hard the skin across his knuckles stretched paper-white. He didn't turn on the radio, and he didn't ask about the media trucks following two cars back. The interior of the vehicle was silent except for the rhythmic, mechanical sweep of the windshield wipers.
Chloe sat in the passenger seat, her tablet resting cold against her lap. She looked out at the blurred grey reflections of the downtown skyline. Arthur’s final words still hung between them, thick and suffocating, heavier than the storm outside.
Ask her why her signature was already on the vill
