I always imagined writing his memoir would be professional, clean, distant, entitled. But nothing about today was distant. It felt logically wrong but my heart urged me on.
By the time I arrived at his office that morning, everything already felt charged. His executive suite gleamed in the sunlight, but the privacy glass hid the glare it was only gray seen from the outside but crystal clear once you step inside. I walked past it slowly, aware I could be watched without seeing who was looking.
My corner desk faced the skyline, the city crawling below while I stared at a blank screen. A custom MacBook glowed softly, mine to command—but every click echoed in the quiet. I sensed him before I heard him, the sound of tailored trousers stepping into the suite behind me.
Kyl leaned against the
