Heartless People

FOURTEEN

Presidents are selected, not elected.
—Franklin D. Roosevelt

CAMILA.

We were in Washington.

Not just Washington, but the goddamn White House. If you could see me now, Orlando. I looked through the windows. I stared at the green garden, fresh cut and perfectly in place; a picture perfect photo, waiting to be taken. Lauren leaned into the chair, and placed her feet up on the desk. Neither of us spoke. This was the beginning; once we went down this road, we couldn't turn back.

We waited though we knew it would not be for long.
Within seconds, the door to the Oval Office opened and the President, dressed in a dark suit, blue tie, and an American flag pin on his jacket, walked
in. His aids surrounded him, speaking quickly about a Supreme Court nominee before they froze at the sight of us sitting at the Presidential desk.

"Mr. President," Lauren stated, her foot still on the desk, completely relaxed.

"Jane, Chris, please give us a moment, and tell Judy to hold all of my calls,"  Colemen said as he forced a smile at them.

They nodded before running off like the little, dull mice they were.

"Have you lost your minds?" he almost shouted once the door clicked shut.

"Would that make you feel better?" I asked him. I moved from the window and sat at the edge of the desk.

He glared at my ass and then at Lauren's feet. "That is the Resolute deska gift from Queen Victoria to President Rutherford B. Hayes in 1880. Every President from Jimmy Carter to now has sat at that desk. Will you both please remove your ass and feet from it?"

I looked at Lauren who took her feet down and grabbed the knife from her jacket pocket. Without hesitating, she ran the blade across the surface where her feet had been. It was the only thing that cut through the silence, and Lauren never once broke eye contact with the leader of the free world. When she was done, she put the knife away.

"Sorry," she said, as she crossed her arms over the top of the desk.

"I am the President!—"

"Oh no, no, no," I cut him off with a finger. "You, are a puppet; our puppet, bought and paid for in full. Made in Miami for one purpose and one purpose
alone—to work for us. That was the deal. You signed your name in blood, and we made you President. Now you need to pay."

He crossed his arms. "I helped you with you cover up. I have the whole nation believing that you're national heroes."

"You think we spent eighty-nine million dollars for one favor?" Lauren snickered. "We built you, and if you think we didn't install a self-destruct button, you are sorely mistaken. Now that you have tasted power, are you willing to give it up? You can spend the next four, and if were pleased, eight years as the most powerful man in the world."

Colemen frowned and clenched his jaw. This was the man with his finger on the button? May God help us all.

"What do you want, Jauregui?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Thats a good puppet," I smiled and Lauren snickered once more.

"We want a list of the FBIs biggest pending cases. The ones that make careers and are made into movies," Lauren said before rising.

"What for?"

"Bad puppet," I sighed. "Don't ask questions you truly do not want the answer to."

"You are asking me to breach protocol and expose top secret information. But you will not tell me why? These are peoples—"