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was low enough that even the guards shifted.
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 swallowed the rest.
But arrogance is a disease. It survives even evidence.
He straightened his jacket and forced out a laugh. “This is edited. Deepfake. Political attack. My team will destroy you by midnight.”
I nodded toward the control room.
Through the glass, my executive producer raised one finger.
