We Meet Again, After All These Years

Alya walked into her small, dimly lit apartment and immediately threw the deadbolt.

She peeled off her wet trench coat, the fabric heavy with rain and mud, and let it drop to the floor. She collapsed onto the cheap fabric sofa, her body trembling from absolute exhaustion.

Ginger hurried into the kitchen and came back with a glass of lukewarm water. She handed it to Alya, her other hand clutching the black business card like it was a live grenade.

"Alya," Ginger said, her voice high and panicked. "Why the hell did Archer Garcia, the most dangerous power broker in this city, just drop you off?"

Alya glared at the gold crest on the card. "Put that in the shredder. Now."

Ginger pulled the card back against her chest. "Are you insane? Having Archer Garcia's private number in D.C. is a literal get-out-of-jail-free card."

"It's a death warrant," Alya snapped.

She reached into her purse and pulled out the unmarked pill bottle. Her hands were shaking so badly she dropped two pills onto her lap before successfully grabbing them.

She threw the pills into her mouth and swallowed them with a gulp of water.

She leaned her head back, closing her eyes and breathing through the residual pain. It took a full minute for the agonizing vice grip around her heart to begin to loosen, the drug slowly dulling the sharp edges of her agony. The color slowly returned to her pale lips.

Ginger frowned, pointing at the bottle. "What are those?"

"Prescription painkillers," Alya lied smoothly, not missing a beat. "For the concussion. My head is killing me."

Alya pushed herself off the sofa and walked over to the narrow window. She stared out at the distant, glowing dome of the Capitol building. Her eyes were filled with a deep, physiological disgust.

"I am not staying in this swamp, Ginger," Alya said, her voice hard. "I took this transfer to the BCF Washington bureau for one reason. I find the man who perjured himself at my father's hearing, I expose him, and I get on a plane back to London."

Ginger sighed, rubbing her temples. "You've been hiding in London for ten years, Al. Are you going to run forever?"

Alya turned around. Her eyes were dead, devoid of any warmth.

"I will stop running when my father's name is cleared," Alya stated.

Ginger saw the manic obsession in her friend's eyes and knew it was useless to argue. She quietly slipped the black business card into the hidden compartment of her phone case.

Alya walked over to the small dining table and opened her heavy, encrypted laptop.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, typing in a thirty-six-character alphanumeric password. The screen went black, then booted into a secure dark web cloud server.

A complex web of financial wire transfers populated the screen. The red lines all pointed toward three massive military-industrial families.

Ginger walked up behind her, saw the names on the screen, and immediately rushed to the window to pull down the blinds.

Alya clicked on a PDF file. It was her onboarding schedule for the Broadcasting Corporation Foundation (BCF).

She highlighted a single name on the roster: Elana McKee, Senior Correspondent.

"Elana has the DOJ informant contacts," Alya said, her eyes tracking the screen. "I just need to get close enough to her to clone her drive."

Suddenly, Alya's personal cell phone vibrated on the table.

She picked it up. It was a text message from an unknown, encrypted number.

The message read: Stay away from the Decker family.

Alya stared at the screen. The arrogant, commanding tone was unmistakable. It was Archer. He was protecting his fiancée's family.

Alya's thumb slammed down on the screen. She blocked the number and immediately wiped her phone's cellular tower cache.

Across the city, sitting in the back of his Escalade, Archer stared at his phone screen.

The red text Message Failed to Deliver popped up.

Archer's lips curled into a dark, terrifying smile.

Marcus looked in the rearview mirror. "Sir, should I deploy a physical detail to watch her building?"

Archer shook his head slowly, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. "No. I already have eyes inside BCF. They were just too slow today."

Back in the apartment, Alya slammed her laptop shut. She rubbed her aching chest, trying to push the memory of Archer's intense gaze out of her mind.

The clock on the wall ticked past 2:00 AM. The war had officially begun.