Chapter 4

Annabel was stable, recovering at Walter Reed under heavy guard. I was allowed to see her once, a brief, supervised visit before being returned to my confinement in the White House.

The next day, Sabrina came to my rooms. She carried a silver tray with a steaming bowl of soup.

"A reconciliation toast," she said, her smile dripping with poison. "Wesley thought it would be a nice gesture."

She set the tray down. The aroma was earthy, familiar. It smelled like home.

"I had the ingredients specially flown in," she continued, watching my face. "From your family's old ranch in Texas. The one the government confiscated. I heard they're plowing under the bluebonnet fields to make way for a new federal facility. Such a shame."

My stomach churned. The ranch was my childhood. It was the heart of the Chavez family, a place of memories and love, now desecrated.

She pushed the bowl towards me. "Drink. A toast to new beginnings."

I looked at the soup, then at her triumphant face. I picked up the spoon and slowly, deliberately, ate every last drop. I would not give her the satisfaction of seeing me break.

But later that night, the real blow came.

Wesley visited me. He looked almost bored.

"I have some news," he said, checking his watch. "Your mother. She was apprehended trying to cross the border a few months ago. We've been holding her at a secure facility."

My heart stopped. My mother, who I thought was safely in hiding.

"I want to see her," I said, my voice shaking.

Wesley's lips curved into a cruel smile. "Perhaps. But first, a little public penance is in order. For your recent... transgressions."

His demand was monstrous. I was to walk, barefoot, up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial on a scorching hot July day. I was to "pray" for the health of Sabrina and her son, a public spectacle of my debasement.

"Do this," he said, "and you can see your mother."

The next day, under the blazing sun, I did it. The stone steps burned the soles of my feet. Tourists gawked and took pictures. The press filmed every agonizing step. I felt nothing but a cold, hollow emptiness.

When it was over, I was taken back to the White House. Wesley was waiting.

"Well done," he said, his tone flat. "A convincing performance."

"My mother," I choked out. "When can I see her?"

He looked at me, his eyes empty of all humanity.

"There was an incident at the facility a few hours ago," he said calmly. "She was killed while trying to escape."