Flitah, Syria – October 2014

Dr. Will Adam's presses reply on the video tweeted by the Associated Press once more. His anger is fueled once again by the sound of his sister's voice. He doesn't know what other emotion he can even possibly put on it—even with the clear tears in her voice or the makeup-covered dark circles under her eyes.

She's alive.

His big sister, Lizzie, is alive. He's spent the last ten years thinking he was the last man standing. He hasn't even spoken to Henry or his nieces and nephew since Jessica adopted the kids. It hurt too much to hear them call anyone else mom. It hurts even more when he listens to her voice. Lizzie had promised never to leave him alone. And maybe that was a stupid promise a fifteen-year-old orphan made to her thirteen-year-old little brother, but he had believed her. He had clung to that promise, let it be his anchor in the storm of his seemingly lifelong grief. She had always protected him, always promised she would be there for him, and he believed her.

And now he's angry. Angry that she lied, angry that he's been carrying this burden of loneliness all this time. He doesn't even know if he can call anyone. His satellite WIFI signal is weak enough that Lizzie's words are cut up, and her face is in and out of low definition.

He's caught in a whirlwind of emotions. The anger of her betrayal overshadows the relief of her survival. His anger is not just anger. It's a storm, a tempest that threatens to consume him, a struggle that rages within him. He feels like a fool for believing her, for letting her promise to be his anchor, only to have it shattered by her betrayal.

He is so, so, very angry.

Will is consumed by his anger, an emotion he's become all too familiar with. It's an unhealthy addiction, but one he's not ready to let go of. His rage, fueled by Lizzie's betrayal, clouds his judgment and influences his decisions.

He surveys the rundown clinic in the heart of the desert, a stark contrast to the chaos he's been living in. He's one of the three doctors and seven nurses dedicating his life to saving those caught in the crossfire. He's torn between his duty to the combat-devastated civilian patients and his overwhelming need to see his sister. If they can't afford for him to leave, he knows he will stay, but the news of Lizzie's survival has thrown his carefully balanced world into disarray.

But his sister is alive, and he needs to see her in person to know that—to process it, maybe to hug her or yell at her. He needs to see her. He's not sure when she started feeling more like a phantom than his flesh and blood, but she does. She was dead for so long, just like their parents. They all left him. But, apparently, Lizzie made the conscious choice to do so.

There's a knock on the doorframe of his makeshift office, which also serves as his sleeping quarters. He glances up and sees one of the other doctors—a Frenchman he frankly finds a little too uptight and pretentious to be working as an improv trauma surgeon in a combat-torn country.

"William?"

Will hates his full name. "Yes?"

"We have a patient en route; oppositional US forces called in, supposedly a child hurt in the bombing, blunt force trauma," the man tells him. Will looks at the clock. It's nearly one a.m., and they've been taking shifts working through the night to ensure that their patients don't go unattended. He's officially missed his chance to sleep.

"Alright, but uh, I think I'm going to have to get back to the US soon. It's a family thing. Also, the US is the ally here. ISIS is the opposition." He grumbles as he stretches and tries to remember if they have enough chlorohexidine scrubs or if he needs to break into the emergency iodine or, ironically, call the medical supplier. He never questions where his supplies come from or where they're headed—those facts can't matter. A civilian life is a civilian life, and he'll get the supplies to save them from wherever they can be bought.

"Oh, well... I can handle the hospital… I guess… I mean… Only having two surgeons isn't ideal… They'll send a replacement. Take your time. You're due for a break anyway. When's the last time you were anywhere safe?"

Will can't remember. He saw Annie maybe three years ago when she was still a toddler. He wonders if she'll remember him; his voice on the satellite phone once a month probably isn't enough. "It's been a while."

His colleague leaves him be, and he looks back down at the computer. He's going to have to talk to someone about getting him a flight out, but he can't even think right now. So, he grabs his lucky scrub cap and ties it on. He'll worry about getting home tomorrow.

Washington, DC – October 2014

Russell, his watch a constant reminder of the ticking clock, sits outside the House Chamber with POTUS. He's aware that Barnow, a powerful figure in K Street, is on his way. His close connection with the Speaker, a key player in the political landscape, is a murky detail that adds to the intrigue. Russell's mind races, knowing that Barnow's extensive network could unearth the damning evidence of Dalton's guilt.

The urgency of Russell's task weighs heavily on him, the pressure mounting as Conrad's suspicions grow. He's acutely aware that his manipulation of the President's trust, carefully crafted over years of strategic moves and calculated decisions, is a fragile façade, one that can't be sustained for much longer. He's a political operative, not a magician.

"I must say, Russell, I'm quite impressed," Conrad's voice breaks Russell's reverie, "You're handling this situation with remarkable finesse,"

"It's my job, sir," Russell says with his usual confidence, "And I think I've managed to buy us some time,"

"Good, because I want to make sure that Elizabeth McCord is dealt with," Conrad replies, his tone firm.

"I agree. She is certainly a risk, Mr. President," Russell hums in agreement, the sentence flowing easily as the truth often does. McCord is a risk to Dalton, as she should be.

"Yes, she is," Conrad sighs, "I wish she would've taken the deal, but well, the woman is stubborn. She's always been stubborn,"

Russell tilts his head at the President's seemingly complimentary tone. He kept her around—that's the thing Russell can't figure out. It's becoming increasingly clear to him that Conrad has some fondness for Elizabeth, though seemingly no guilt regarding his actions. It makes little sense to him.

He wants to probe the President's feelings for Elizabeth, but he knows he must be strategic. So, he restrains himself, steering the conversation back to their political goal, "She is, and she's got a very compelling story, but I think we can discredit her."

"Yes," Conrad nods, confident in his tradecraft and ability to play the game. "She's not going to get far with the American people. I know how to make them trust me in mass,"

"That you do, Mr. President," Russell smiles, his phone buzzing in his pocket, "Excuse me, sir."

Russell steps into the hallway to take the call and his heart rate spikes when he sees the number on the screen.

"Cutting it a little close, Barnow?" he whisper-yells into his blackberry.

"I'm on my way to the Hill. I just got off the phone with the anal retentive one... uh, Blake Moran. He's handing over my stuff to Na—Speaker Tolliver as we speak." Mike B shoots off in his nothing matters, fast-passed way.

"And the things you have?" Russell inquires.

"Affidavits and testimony from three people in the agency who crafted the original tradecraft file on McCord, not to mention I threatened the two others Munsey had doing the updated Bluebird file. POTUS forgot rule number one of keeping a secret, telling no one, and involving no one. People like him, but they're not willing to go to federal prison for the rest of their lives for him. They have families," Barnow informs Russell.

"Anything else?"

"I'd rather keep it close to the vest for now," he says, "You know, plausible deniability and all."

"Fine," Russell concedes, "Just get here. I don't want this to turn into a bloodbath,"

"Relax, Russell," Mike's tone is confident, "It's under control."

Russell lets out a sigh. "You have no idea the position I'm in, Mike."

"POTUS getting suspicious?"

"It's a fine line," Russell admits.

"You'll be fine, Russ. You always are."

Russell swallows, digging in his pocket for Tums. "You better hope you're right."

He ends the call and slips his phone into his pocket.

He takes a deep breath, steadying his nerves.

"Everything alright?" Conrad asks, a suspicious glint in his eye as he steps back out.

"Just re-assuring a donor, Julius Burton," Russell is nearly surprised at how smoothly the lie rolls off his tongue.

"Good," Conrad nods, "Let's go."

Clarksburg, MD – October 2014

Allison's frustration mounts as she wishes Anderson Cooper and Jake Tapper would stop talking. She glances at Stevie, hoping to switch to C-SPAN for a quieter viewing of the hearing. But her older sister is completely absorbed in the television and the news coverage. Allison can see the tension in Stevie's jaw, a sign of her intense focus.

Allison's concern for Stevie is palpable as she speaks softly, her voice filled with empathy, "Stevie, are you alright?" Her words carry a gentle touch, a reflection of the deep bond they share.

"Not now, Allie," Stevie says, staring ahead.

The tension in the room is palpable, like a heavy cloud that refuses to dissipate. Allison grinds her teeth as her jaw clenches. She turns to her little brother, who seems to be focusing out the window, though he's listening to CNN's coverage intently. The sound of the news anchor's voice fills the room, mingling with the distant hum of traffic outside.

"While these accusations are serious, President Dalton seems unfazed by them. As we mentioned earlier, the President has already released a statement denying the allegations," Anderson Cooper's voice rings out through the speaker.

"Of course he did," Allison says, her frustration seeping through her words. Her voice trembles with a mix of anger and helplessness. "I mean, who wouldn't?" The family's emotional turmoil is evident in their reactions to the news.

"That's exactly what the White House wants people to think, right?" Jake Tapper responds, "He's the President of the United States, but he's also a United States citizen, and he's entitled to a trial like any other. Speaking of, here is Speaker Toliver, moments ago,"

The image of the front of the House Chamber is as striking as always. Speaker Nadine Tolliver stands firm behind her pulpit, "Ladies and Gentleman, I believe there to be times in which we as members of this great body must complete the actions necessary for the good of the people. Now is one of those times. It is for this reason that I call on the oversight Committee to begin the immediate impeachment inquiry of President Conrad Joseph Dalton and ensure that these accusations are fully investigated. In doing so, we can be certain that the integrity and honesty of our nation is upheld,"

"I agree," Jake Tapper responds.

"Me too," Anderson Cooper adds, "We have no idea what the outcome of this inquiry will be, but it is certainly an unprecedented situation—"

Allison allows herself to tune out the editorial comments. She can't stand to listen to anyone speak about her mother anymore. Her heart aches with every word that is said against her. The weight of the accusations her mother has made sits heavy not only on her chest but on the entire family. It's not fair, not right, and yet there's nothing she can do, a sense of helplessness engulfing her.

She can't help but think about the future—about the possibility of her mother and, therefore, her family losing. The uncertainty and fear of what lies ahead weigh heavily on her heart.

"Stevie, did Mom or Dad say what happens if he doesn't get removed from office?" She asks her older sister, hoping for some insight into the matter.

"No," Stevie shakes her head slowly.

"So that contingency isn't being planned for? Like us being on the run forever or, or-" Allison can't bear to finish her sentence, the weight of the words too much to bear.

"You can't lose the faith, Allie, okay? Mom needs us to believe this will work," Stevie responds, her eyes remaining fixed on the TV. "Despite this overwhelming situation, we have to hold on to hope, okay?"

"Well, what happens if it doesn't work?"

"Then we cross that bridge when we come to it. There's nothing we can do about it right now." Stevie says firmly.

"Right," Allison breathes, trying to quell the rising panic in her chest.

The silence in the room is deafening as the four of them continue to watch the comments between the reporters and their so-called experts. Each new theory and opinion contradicts the previous one. It's overwhelming, and Allison can't help but feel like there's a disconnect between her and the events unfolding, no matter how deeply connected she truly is to it. She brings her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on top. The familiar position offers her some comfort, allowing her to find some solace in the chaos, and then she prays, as she's always watched her father do.

The minutes tick by slowly, and Allison tries not to think about the outcome, knowing it won't change anything. She has no control over the situation, and she knows that. All she can do is wait, hope, and pray, no matter how useless that may seem.

Washington, DC – October 2014

"Conrad's here."

The words reverberate in her mind, each echo a reminder of the impending storm. She's not sure if she should be as shocked as she is. He would do this... of course, he would. He's been backed into a corner, and now he's playing his final card: in-person intimidation. It makes perfect sense. Yet, Elizabeth can't wrap her head around it. Too much has happened and is happening. She is utterly exhausted and fried, and it just keeps getting worse. She feels as if having to testify while he's in the room may finally send her to the breakdown she's been desperately trying to avoid, her every nerve frayed and her mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions.

She meets Henry's gaze, his face drained of color, burdened by the gravity of the situation. Their eyes lock in a moment filled with apprehension and a mutual longing for closure that hangs heavy in the air. There is a palpable yearning for the end of this torment between them.

"Okay," she exhales, her voice trembling with the weight of the situation, each word heavy with the burden of what's to come. "Does this actually alter the plan?"

Henry catches the look in her eyes, something dark and almost feral. He wonders what the look means. When he met her, she had a reckless streak. She was an orphan who studied hard but partied harder, liquor and dancing back then. To be fair to her, it was the eighties, and a lot of kids did that, including himself. He knows she did reckless things after she came back from Iraq, even if she's been vague about those things since their reunion. Recklessness has been a part of her life for as long as he's known her. He doesn't like that he can't tell what she's thinking. He doesn't like that he doesn't know exactly what the look means. He's nervous for her.

"Technically, no. The emergency session has started, and the Oversight Committee is set to begin their inquiry in twenty minutes, based on the current whip count," Jay says, his brow furrowed and his lips in a tight line. The man's stress seems to be rolling off him in waves; his nerves are more and more palpable every time he speaks to his father, who is now waiting in a witness room to testify.

Elizabeth nods. She takes a deep breath and looks at the faces around her, the ones she can trust and the one who, at the moment, she needs. Whether it's unfair to him or not, she needs him. Henry is her safety net, and though she may be able to do this without him, she doesn't want to.

"Come with me?" She says, the request coming out as more of a question than the command she intended it to be.

He nods, his voice barely a whisper, "Of course, whatever you need."

"Thank you," she breathes, the words laced with a softness reserved only for him. Her hand reaches for his, and their fingers interlock. His thumb begins its comforting back-and-forth motion across the back of her hand.

"So, we finish this," she says, her tone a determined mix of steel and fire, a spark in her eyes that is both terrifying and beautiful. Henry knows one thing very clearly as they begin their walk hand in hand to the House hearing room: she will end Conrad Dalton, and it won't take months. She will end him today.