The room has grown so silent I swear you could her a pin drop. The reporters are waiting to hang on my next words.
I continue on with the press conference. "But you must also know that everything that Governor Meelios has said has been a lie. Amy has done nothing wrong. She is not a sex trafficker. That is not something that her, or I, have ever, or would ever condone. To say that we are morally inept couldn't be farther from the truth. I swear that to each and every one of you standing in front of me today."
I look around the room full of reporters, looking to see if they're following me, and I can see some heads nodding. I seem to be regaining their trust, albeit slowly, and I take th
at as a good sign.
"All my life, I have struggled to find that perfect woman—a woman who I could love and be loved by in return. A woman who I could picture spending the rest of my life with. There was even a time when I thought this might never be possible for me. That maybe I would never find this woman. But now I can honestly stand here in front of each and every one of you and say that I've found her," I remark, making eye contact with the crowd to emphasize the truth of it all. I also look over at Amy. She's standing to the side of the stage, and we lock eyes. I give her a smile and continue, "And I can say that I love her—I love Amy—with all my heart."
With that statement, the tension in the room seems to lift. It's like a dark cloud dissipates, and I feel a huge weight lifted from my shoulders.
I guess it's true what they say—the truth does free you.
One reporter starts to clap, and then another, and another, and another, until finally, the entire room is erupting into applause.
Instead of confused, frowning faces, I'm now seeing a sea of smiles, and that does it.
Cameras begin flashing again, and they don't stop for what seems like forever.
"From this day forward," I say, "I promise that there won't be anymore secrets. I'm proud of who I am; I'm proud of the life that Amy and I are building together."
Reporters are still clapping, and now I hear them begin to cheer.
"I'm also proud to call myself your Mayor, and look forward to taking my enthusiasm for public service, as well as my resolve, into my bid for US Senate. If you're willing to follow me on that journey, I urge each and every one of you to vote for me in this year's Congressional election."
The applause coming from the room is now palpable. It almost feels like a slow rumble beneath my feet, like a herd of buffalo migrating to greener pastures.
I'm back, I think to myself.
For the first time in weeks, I feel like I'm really back in this political race, and that try as hard as she might, Governor Kate Meelios can't touch us.
She can't take us down.
This feeling is sealed when I hear the crowd erupt into a familiar chant.
"Just ask Trask! Just ask Trask! Just as Trask!"
I smile again and wave to crowd.
Yes, I'm back.
And it feels so good.
32
Amy
This is it, the final showdown, I think to myself, forehead pressed against the limo’s window as we roll down the deserted streets. The National Guard is already on their way to my company’s offices, and Parker and I are heading there to stop them. Or, well, try to. I don’t really see what we can do, but Parker seems confident enough to give me just a sliver of hope.
The NYPD has already closed off the streets and evacuated the block where I have my offices, all to try and stop this from turning into a bloodbath. There’s an eerie feeling in the air, and I can’t help but feel anxious about the whole thing. It's show time, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.
“We’re here, sir,” the limo driver tells us politely, halting the limo right in front of the building where just weeks ago we had a standoff with the state troopers.
“Let’s go,” Parker tells me, squeezing my hand in his and opening the door on his side of the limo. He steps outside into the cold New York morning sun and I follow after him, straightening the front of my dress nervously.
There are at least twenty NYPD cars parked in the street in front of my building, each of them carrying at least five police officers. And that’s just the regular force—aside from them, there are also two SWAT teams and a full platoon of NYPD officers in riot gear.
“She’ll be here anytime now,” Parker tells me and, as if to compliment his words, the sound of helicopters closing in on us echoes throughout the street. I look up at the sky, anxiety gripping my heart, and then two helicopters come into view, their rotary blades raising a wind that lashes at my hair. Ignoring the battalion of NYPD officers, they land right in the middle of the street, and camouflaged soldiers start pouring out in a rush, clutching their heavy rifles to their chests.