I blink hard. Not now! I need to focus. Capture this scene for my book. Our book. The one Garrett and I were working on together. Until he…

Ron points to the courthouse steps. “See the podium and the camera stands up there?”

I nod. “What about them?”

“All for show. No way the Secret Service allows the president and First Gent to go through the front entrance.”

“The crowd won’t appreciate being tricked like that.”

“You’re right,” says Ron. “They came to witness history.”

So did I.

The first time in history that a president’s spouse is going on trial for murder.

3

The convoy crawls toward the entrance as cops push the crowds back. Inside the six-ton Suburban in the middle, Cole rubs his hands together nervously. Pearce leans forward in his jump seat and says, “The county sheriffs, state troopers, and Secret Service have carved out a path so we can go around to the rear of the courthouse. By the time the crowd and the press catch on, we’ll be inside and out of sight.”

Hidden away, Cole thinks. “No,” he says quietly. “That’s not going to happen.”

Pearce blinks. “Excuse me?”

“I said no. Going in through the rear of the courthouse signals that I’m guilty, that I have something to hide. Screw that. I’m going to run the ball straight through the line of scrimmage.”

The Suburban moves toward the driveway turnoff. Pearce is getting testy. “Cole, plans have been in place for days. Best to arrive via the rear from both a safety and PR viewpoint.”

But Cole is firm. “We go through the front door. That’s final.” He turns to his wife. “Maddy, will you say a few words on the courthouse steps?”

It’s a big ask. Maddy doesn’t need to tell him the source of the tension in her eyes. The conflict between being his loving partner while serving as POTUS, leader of the free world, is etched on her face.

Maddy looks at her chief of staff. “Cole is right, Burton. We go through the front entrance, heads held high.”

“But, ma’am, we’re just about there. Arrangements have been made.”

Cole sees Maddy shift into commander-in-chief mode. Cool. Crisp. Decisive. “You’ve got a phone,” she says. “Make new arrangements.”

4

They’re getting out!” Ron grabs my sleeve.

Sure enough, I hear the slamming of heavy car doors and see movement at the front of the courthouse steps. The Secret Service is scrambling to clear a path to the podium.

“That takes some brass ones!” Ron calls to me above the rising noise.

A ring of dark suits surrounds President Wright and her broad-shouldered husband.

The president walks up the wide steps and pivots to the podium. The crowd surges forward. Cops push back. Secret Service agents watch the sea of faces. And hands. Especially the hands. Looking for weapons.