Chapter 3 The weight of dilence

Chapter 3

"The Weight of Silence"

That evening, Rebecca returned home to a stillness that felt... altered. The furniture was intact, the hallway lamp flickered as usual, and the scent of lavender still lingered from the morning's diffuser. Yet, one detail sliced through the calm-her mother's piano.

It had been moved.

Barely half an inch to the left, but it was unmistakable. That piano had not been touched since her mother's death seven years ago, sealed in silent reverence. Her breath caught in her chest. She placed her bag down slowly, every sound unnaturally loud.

Allen wasn't home. Still at the office. She'd called twice-no answer.

Her phone buzzed.

Blocked Number: Do you remember what he did in Marseille?

Rebecca stared, her fingers trembling. Marseille. The name alone cracked open something she had buried. Something Allen had sworn never happened. But how could anyone know? She had never spoken of it. Not even in dreams.

She quickly drew the blinds, scanning the street. Cruz stood there, across from the old maple tree. The same trench coat, the same stance, the same silent eyes. Watching.

Thunder grumbled low in the distance, shaking the glass ever so slightly. The air seemed to pulse with warning.

Rebecca's heartbeat climbed, not with fear, but recognition. The lie-based security net was falling apart. And in that second-unmistakable clarity struck like lightning.

The storm would not arrive. It had already begun.

Allen Walker's political rise was less a climb and more a calculated ascent-layered with intent, community-driven, and punctuated by transformative leadership. By the age of 37, he had already etched his name into the annals of national politics, not by force or wealth, but by the sheer clarity of vision he brought to a fractured political landscape.

Born in Newark, New Jersey, Allen's journey began in modesty. His father was a carpenter, and his mother, a schoolteacher with progressive values. From a young age, he displayed an unusual blend of empathy and strategy-helping resolve local disputes on his street, organizing neighborhood clean-ups, and volunteering at food banks. These small efforts planted a seed: the idea that leadership wasn't about power, but impact.

When Allen ran for city council in his late twenties, few took him seriously. But his speeches-rooted in community empowerment, affordable healthcare, and education reform-ignited a quiet revolution. He didn't just speak; he listened. That won him hearts. Then votes. Then the council seat.

From there, his path was relentless.

As mayor of his city, Allen implemented a groundbreaking education initiative called Project Elevate, which modernized 70% of public schools within his first term. He negotiated with both private and public partners to expand school technology, establish nutrition programs, and train underperforming teachers rather than fire them. Dropout rates decreased by 40% in three years. His housing reform bill, Homeground, was a daring attempt to address homelessness by repurposing abandoned state-owned buildings into affordable units, with mental health facilities built into the complexes. By coupling shelter with support, Allen redefined what modern housing policy could look like.

Allen Walker is a man of many faces-charming, composed, and always a step ahead. With a disarming smile and a voice dipped in honeyed tones, he glides through social circles like a shadow in silk. His charisma is magnetic, but beneath the surface lies a labyrinth of deception. Allen is not just a liar-he is an artist of illusion, crafting tales so believable they blur the line between truth and fantasy.

One of Allen's most striking qualities is his ability to read people with surgical precision. He listens intently, stores secrets like currency, and mirrors emotions to earn trust. To women, he is the embodiment of understanding-always saying the right words, offering the perfect comfort, and making them feel singular in his gaze. But what he gives with one hand, he quietly takes with the other.

Allen's ways with women are a careful performance. He never rushes-he seduces with patience, weaving intricate stories of shared dreams, vulnerability, and whispered promises. His lies are never loud; they come wrapped in affection and coated in authenticity. He doesn't break hearts-he lets them break themselves against the illusions he carefully constructs.

Yet, for all his manipulation, Allen is not heartless. There are moments-a flicker of guilt, a lingering glance-that suggest even he longs for something real. But the web he's spun around himself is too thick to escape. His heart, if it beats with honesty, is buried under the wreckage of too many lies.

In the end, Allen Walker is both the dream and the downfall. Women remember him not just as a lover, but as a lesson-the beautiful lie they chose to believe.

Allen gained statewide respect and eventually a seat in the Senate due to his charisma and data-driven leadership. But unlike many who became distant at the federal level, Allen doubled down on inclusivity. He initiated the "Table of Ten" initiative, which consisted of monthly town halls in which ten citizens from each state district were brought to the capital at random to engage directly with legislative procedures. It was symbolic and practical: governance that included the governed.

Under his watch, bills targeting systemic inequality passed with bipartisan support. He didn't preach unity-he practiced it. He forged unexpected alliances with conservative leaders on small business reforms while simultaneously advocating for police accountability and climate justice.

His economic reform package, known as the Unity Act, tackled wage stagnation, tax loopholes, and job mobility through a new lens. Businesses that invested in low-income neighborhoods were encouraged by the law, and employers who provided vocational training received tax breaks. Critics were silenced when unemployment fell to a record low within two years of its implementation.

Culturally, Allen was revered for his restraint, intellect, and unmatched oratory. Unlike many, he avoided sensationalism. His speeches at rallies were filled with poetry and precision. He used equal amounts of quotes from Solzhenitsyn, Achebe, and Baldwin. He wasn't the loudest voice in the room-but he was always the one people leaned in to hear.

Additionally, Allen's private life remained somewhat a mystery. The media speculated about his long-time relationship with Rebecca. Some saw her as a silent strength behind the politician. Others whispered of her haunted eyes. But Allen never wavered in his devotion to her. Every public gala, every speech, every state dinner-Rebecca was there. Dressed simply. standing close by him. Observing.

To his constituents, Allen was more than a politician. He was hope personified-a beacon in murky waters. He brought togetherness not just as a slogan, but as a strategy. Families began to believe again in the possibility of better days. People across age groups, religions, and backgrounds felt seen, heard, and inspired under his tenure.

His crowning achievement came when he secured federal funding for a national mental health initiative named Pulse, which ensured therapy, trauma counseling, and suicide prevention were accessible in every public school in America. Mental health, once stigmatized, became a central conversation in American homes thanks to Allen's relentless advocacy.

But for all his light, shadows followed.

Rumors swirled, as they often do around powerful men. Some whispered of a covert mission in Marseille, back when Allen briefly disappeared from the public eye in 2012. He claimed he was writing. Others weren't so sure. Documents leaked, only to vanish. A name Cruz surfaced, then was buried.

Allen never addressed it publicly. He simply moved forward.

And so, with a résumé that glowed, and a public that adored him, Allen Walker stood at the peak of his influence. A man made of many truths-some known, some forgotten, and others waiting, silently, to be revealed.