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Former federal marshals. Men I hired after Grant’s first “private warning” six months earlier, when he suggested my network should stop investigating city contracts.
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.
He froze.
“You planned this,” he hissed.
“I prepared for it,” I said.
Those were different things.
His eyes darted to Elena. “You did this? You little—”
“Finish that sentence,” I said.
