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My pregnant daughter ran into my office, her face covered in fresh b:ruises. Her husband, a beloved local politician, casually strolled in behind her, shutting the door.
Grant grabbed his phone, saw the screen, and cursed. “My deputy.”
“Resigning?” I asked.
His eyes lifted.
There was the second reveal.
He had not just targeted a wife.
He had targeted my daughter.
And he had done it inside a building where truth was not a slogan on the wall but a weapon sharpened every hour.
