silkpressprincess
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- Parts 21
It was 2003. I was coming back from a classified operation out of Quantico, working with a joint federal task force. I'd been gone for months, buried in a world of shadows and surveillance and things I still can't talk about, not even to my kids. I was in San Francisco to debrief and grab a drink before heading home to L.A. That's when I saw her. Kamala. She was standing in front of City Hall, mid-conversation with a staffer, laughing like the sunlight itself was chasing her.
I stood there like an idiot with a manila folder in one hand and a duffel bag slung over my shoulder, trying to summon the nerve to walk over. Chrisette had told me all about her: sharp as a whip, relentless in the courtroom, soft-spoken in private. Complicated. Real.
But before I could make a move, my phone buzzed. Another op. Emergency. Two hours to pack and get to Dulles. I watched her hail a cab and disappear into traffic.
By the time I came back four months later, she was dating Obama.