The Black Liberation Movement organizers moved about the local student center exhibition hall, turning what had been a bustling free, pop-up clinic into an orderly, clean space once again. Folding tables were being collapsed and stacked in neat piles, leftover supplies packed into boxes, and discarded masks and gloves swept into biohazard bags. The chatter of staffers echoed in the spacious room.
"Marcus, make sure all the medical waste is properly sealed and labeled please." Olivia called out from across the room.
"Already on it." Marcus called back, carefully handling a red bag.
Nearby, Harrison was chatting with the grumpy, older custodian. "We'll have everything cleared out in an hour," he assured her with his charm on full display.
Huck was off to the side, seated cross-legged on the floor with his laptop propped on his knees. Every now and then, he glanced at the stack of surveys beside him, pulling data from participant feedback forms.
On the other side of the hall, Olivia crouched in front of a box of donated first-aid kits, pressing strips of tape over the top to seal it. She tried to concentrate on her task, but Angela and Annalise flanked her like relentless detectives, grilling her about her night with Governor Grant.
Since Olivia had arrived late, jumping straight into work while the clinic was already underway, they hadn't been able to interrogate her. But now, with the clinic over, it was open season.
"Nothing happened," Olivia said firmly, hoping for the hundredth time that they'd drop it.
Angela scoffed. "Bitch, lie again. All that damn limping you've been doing begs to differ."
"You spent the whole night at his house, and you expect us to believe nothing happened? Miss us with that." Annalise added, waving a dismissive hand.
Olivia sighed, "I got a little tipsy, and he offered me one of his guest rooms to sleep it off. When I woke up, it was morning. That's it." The lie that she practiced during the drive over there slipped out easily.
Angela arched a perfectly, plucked eyebrow, "So what's up with the limp then?"
"I hit my knee running in here."
Olivia tore another piece of tape with laser focus as if she were performing surgery, hoping her friends would take the hint and finally leave her be.
Angela wasn't budging though. "Bullshit. Was it big?"
Olivia glanced up at Angela's smirk. "Was what big?"
Angela sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes impatiently. "You know damn well what I'm referring to."
Annalise leaned in, curious too. "Was the sex good?"
"Girl, what kind of question is that?" Angela said before Olivia could open her mouth to respond. "He obviously put that thang on her. Got her hobbling around here like a three-legged turtle. I guess he didn't care nothing 'bout ya draws."
"I hate you." Olivia grumbled, but despite her annoyance, a smile crept across her face. She knew they wouldn't stop until she gave them something. Finally with an exasperated sigh, she relented. "Fine. I slept with him. It was good. Yes, he was hung. Happy?"
Annalise let out a delighted squeal, clapping her hands. It was about time her bestie got some good loving… even if it was a Caucasian man. "Ooh, I knew it!"
"You whore!" Angela cackled, pointing at her.
Their outbursts prompted curious glances in their direction. Olivia's eyes widened in panic, and she quickly stood up, clamping a hand over both their mouths.
"Will the two of you shut the hell up!" She hissed in a low but urgent voice.
Angela and Annalise exchanged gleeful looks over Olivia's hands, their laughter muffled but persistent. Olivia groaned, shaking her head.
"Hey, Liv!" Huck called, approaching them with his laptop. "You need to see this."
"That's the problem with people nowadays. They are disconnected from the real world, stuck in some virtual reality. They ignore their own communities, and then turn around expecting politicians to fix the consequences of their neglect." Fitz ranted, running a hand through his hair as he paced behind his desk.
Ethan Asher, Fitz's social media manager, sighed. "Governor, I get your resistance, but like it or not, social media is now reality—for most people anyway. It's where voters live, especially younger ones. If you want to win, you need to meet them where they are."
Ethan glanced at Jeanine Locke, Fitz's publicist, who gave him a small nod of encouragement. "May I speak freely, sir?"
Fitz dropped into his chair, his expression sour. "Why stop now?" He gestured vaguely for Ethan to continue.
"You're not relatable."
Fitz raised an inquiring brow but kept quiet. Ethan scrolled through the data on his tablet and summarized what it concluded.
"Voters don't feel like they know you. They want someone who is approachable, someone they can imagine kicking back and sharing a six-pack of beer with. That's the vibe they get from Josie Marcus and Frankie Vargas—"
"Hell, even that sanctimonious, scripture-quoting hillbilly Sally Langston." Cyrus chimed in from his spot on the couch.
Ethan and Jeanine nodded in agreement, though they would have chosen more tactful words to describe the other Republican candidate. Ethan cleared his throat and pressed on.
"But they don't see you in the same light. You seem like you only drink forty-year-old scotch in a dimly lit study that smells of mahogany and Cuban cigars."
Jeanine eyed the tumbler of scotch on Fitz's desk. "To them, you are an untouchable elitist who's never had to work for anything in his pampered life."
Fitz leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and glaring between them. "Then what are you two getting paid for? Isn't that what you were supposed to be doing this entire time… making me relatable?"
Ethan shifted uncomfortably under Fitz's pointed gaze. "Sir, we can only work with what you give us."
"Which is hardly anything." Jeanine added. "All people see is Governor Grant—the handsome, wealthy, Ivy League golden boy. But that's surface-level. They need to see Fitz. The guy who shops for his own groceries and watches Monday night football with one hand stuffed down his pants while the other holds a Budweiser."
"Jeanine's right. You're trying to help these people, but they don't see you as one of them. They think you're up in some ivory tower, completely out of touch with the challenges they face."
Fitz rubbed his temples as a headache brewed behind his eyes. "So what do you suggest? How do I suddenly convince millions of Americans that I'm not the caricature they've built in their heads?"
Jeanine took the lead. "Drop the polished Governor Grant act. Show them the man behind the title. Post candid moments—cooking dinner, walking your dog, picking up coffee at a local café. Engage with them on social media. Repost this, like that, reply to their comments. Make them feel like you're not some distant deity reigning above them from his protected perch, but a regular guy they could have a casual conversation with."
Fitz scoffed, shaking his head. "I am running for President of the United States. Why does it matter if I tweet or walk my nonexistent dog? Who cares if I buy my own milk? What matters is that I know how to govern—how to protect the Republic and manage global crises. I am not some soccer dad in Vermont."
"And it's that attitude that'll cost us the election." Cyrus growled, moving toward Fitz's desk.
"Cyrus, please." Jeanine raised a hand, silencing him before he could say anything else to further irritate Fitz. She turned to the governor, her tone gentle yet persuasive, intent on getting through to him. "Governor, trust is built on familiarity and connection. Voters need to feel like you're a leader as well as someone who truly understands their struggles through shared experiences. You cannot rely solely on your intellect and charm. Show them who you are, not just what you know."
Fitz opened his mouth to argue, but the buzz of his phone cut him off. Peering at the screen, his entire demeanor shifted. He straightened in his chair and grabbed the device.
"I'll think about it," he said absently, dismissing Ethan and Jeanine with a wave.
Jeanine and Ethan exchanged a look and left without another word. Cyrus lingered, his beady eyes fixed on the phone still vibrating in Fitz's hand.
"Who is it?" Cyrus asked nosily.
Not many people had the privilege of direct access to Fitz's personal number. Most had to go through his high-level staff to contact him, and even then, few made it through.
Fitz smirked, standing to guide Cyrus to the door. "Cy, it's honestly a miracle you're still in a relationship. Why don't you take James on a real date for once? No more of those home-cooked, candlelit dinners at your place. I'm sure he's tired of being treated like your dirty little secret."
Cyrus shot him a defensive look. "With all due respect, sir, you shouldn't concern yourself with my personal life."
"Ditto," Fitz said smoothly, holding the door open.
Cyrus huffed and stomped out. Fitz closed the door behind him and answered his phone before it went to voicemail.
"Well, this is a surprise," He said, settling back into his chair.
"I know it was you," came Olivia's sharp voice as she skipped pleasantries.
Fitz grinned at her accusatory tone. From the faint hum of noise in the background, he could tell she was in a car.
"Uh-oh. What did I do this time?" He teased.
"Someone anonymously donated ten thousand dollars to the Black Liberation Movement."
"Wow, that was generous of them." Fitz kept his voice neutral, even with a wide smile on his face.
"I know it was you. What do you want?" Olivia asked harshly.
Fitz wasn't taken aback by her attitude. He expected such a reaction from her.
"I couldn't have done it out of the kindness of my heart?"
Olivia let out an incredulous snort. "Nobody donates that much money without wanting something in return."
"I wanted you to reach your goal… now you have."
"No, we exceeded our goal. It's too much. We can't accept it."
A voice cut in from the background, loud and unapologetic. "Yes the hell we can! Why would you say that? Gimme the phone. I want to talk to him."
"Angela, mute yourself!" Olivia snapped, frazzled.
Fitz heard another voice, just as loud and insistent. "Liv, let us thank him for his wonderful donation since your ungrateful ass won't!"
Fitz was enjoying listening to who he guessed was Olivia's friends harassing her and giving her a dose of her own medicine.
"I swear for Lord, I will kick both of you out of this moving car if y'all don't cut it out!" Olivia barked.
There was a long pause before—
"HEY, GOVERNOR GRANT!" The voices shouted in unison.
Fitz chuckled, "Hello, ladies."
"What he say? I heard his voice. Tell us what he said." One of them demanded.
"Girl, if you don't stop hitting me. I'm driving!" Olivia exclaimed, but her voice held more humor than frustration. "He said y'all have irritating voices," she deadpanned.
"Olivia!" Fitz burst out laughing. "I did not! Tell them the truth."
"I'm just playing," Olivia laughed. "He said hello."
Fitz kicked his feet on his desk, crossing them at the ankles as he listened to Olivia threaten to crash her car while her friends begged her to put him on speaker. They were a much-needed distraction from the immense stress weighing on him. For a few minutes, his world felt a little lighter.
Cyrus paced outside of Fitz's office. His movements were agitated and expression brooding. He wasn't upset that he didn't know who Fitz was on the phone with, but he was mad at being shut out for reasons unknown to him. The muffled sound of Fitz's laughter, audible through the heavy door, only fired him up more.
"What's going on? Why are you pacing around like a caged animal?" Big Gerry's voice boomed down the hallway.
Cyrus halted mid-step, turning to see Gerry strolling toward him. Gerry didn't acknowledge Abby, seated at her desk, as he passed by her. She took it as a blessing. She loathed him and dreaded any interaction with him.
"The Governor's on a personal call." Cyrus informed him.
Gerry furrowed his bushy eyebrows "Who with?"
"I don't know. He's always been private, but now he's being secretive. He showed up late this morning, claiming he overslept."
"That's why your panties are twisted into a knot? Because he was tardy?" Gerry asked, his tone dripping with derision.
Cyrus cast him a stabbing glare. "This is serious. My gut is telling me he's hiding something… something career-ending. As his chief of staff, I need to know what's going on with him at all times so it doesn't blow up in our faces."
Gerry chuckled darkly. "If he's hiding something, I'll get to the bottom of it."
He strode to the office door and latched onto the handle.
"You shouldn't go in there right now," Cyrus said, stepping forward. "He's in a bad mood."
From behind the door came another muffled laugh.
"Doesn't sound like it," without waiting for permission or heeding Cyrus's warning, Gerry pushed the door open.
Fitz was still leaning back in his chair with a genuine smile on his face as he cradled his phone to his ear. The second he saw his father, the smile dropped, replaced by a deep frown.
"Hey, I have to go now. I appreciate the call." Fitz said in a soft yet flat tone.
Gerry leaned casually against the closed door, studying his son. Fitz's voice and body language gave away nothing, and Gerry's keen eyes couldn't find any clues to indicate who he was speaking with.
"You're welcome… Goodnight." Fitz finished the call and begrudgingly gave his attention to his father. Folding his hands on his desk, he asked curtly, "What do you want?"
"You didn't have to cut your call short on my account. I'm a patient man," Gerry quipped, taking a seat across from him.
Fitz didn't bother acknowledging how false that statement was. "Why are you here?"
Big Gerry slid a folder across the desk. Fitz opened it and flipped through the pages, revealing glossy photos of beautiful, young women, each accompanied by a detailed dossier—background information, interests, heights, weights, and more. The list felt as clinical as it was unsettling.
"You have got to be kidding me," Fitz muttered, closing the folder and pushing it aside.
"One of those women will be your wife," Gerry declared matter-of-factly. "The last page is a schedule with dates, times, and locations for you to meet with them. In three weeks, you'll choose one to wed."
"You could've emailed me this." Fitz spat, his disgust evident as he glared at his father.
"So you could delete it? No chance," Gerry countered.
He knew his son. Had he sent it via email instead of delivering it in person, Fitz would have surely ignored it.
Fitz gave him a tired look, "Whatever."
He grabbed a briefing and pretended to read it. There was no more gas left in his tank to engage in another dispute, especially not with his bullheaded father.
"I'm serious, Fitzgerald," Gerry pressed, his tone harder now. "These arrangements are set in stone. I expect your full cooperation."
"Fine." Fitz agreed too quickly and easily.
Gerry hesitated, taken aback by Fitz's unexpected compliance. He was prepared to clash with his son. Fitz, however, had no intention of meeting any of the women, but he was willing to pretend to go along with the plan if it meant getting his father off his back and out of his office.
"Well… all right then." Gerry said and stood up to leave. He paused at the door and turned back to his son. "I only want the best for you, you know."
Fitz gave a brief nod, unsure how to respond. He wanted to believe his father's words carried sincerity, but with Gerry, there was always an ulterior motive. Shortly after Gerry left, Fitz reached for his phone again and scrolled through his contacts. He brought it to his ear and waited until the call connected.
"What's up, boss?" Charlie answered, his voice muffled by a loud crunch—likely from a cookie he was munching to satisfy his sweet tooth.
Charlie was Cyrus and Big Gerry's go-to guy in the underground world. Fitz rarely tolerated him for a laundry list of reasons. Still, even he couldn't deny Charlie's uncanny ability to get things done. He was resourceful, discreet, and annoyingly reliable. However, Fitz would never trust him because his allegiance was always up for sale to the highest bidder.
"My father recently hired you to bury dirt on some women." Fitz stated in a clipped tone that was devoid of inquisitiveness.
"Yeah, so?" Charlie replied with a casual indifference, followed by another crunch.
Lying to Fitz about his father's dealings was pointless. Charlie knew Fitz was already well aware of how frequently Gerry enlisted his services for tasks that were both illegal and unethical.
"I'll double what he paid you to dig it all up and hand it over to me."
Charlie stopped his obnoxious chewing. "Oh?" He said with intrigue. "When do you need it?"
"Expeditiously."
Charlie didn't have to think about it, "Deal." He said without missing a beat.
He would have been a fool to turn down an offer like this. Sure, what Fitz was asking wasn't nearly as thrilling as torturing people or making bodies disappear, but the large payday made up for the lack of excitement. One thing about those Grants, they never pinched pennies.
"Good. I'll transfer half the money now, and you'll get the rest when the job's finished." Fitz said before hanging up.
"Dang Liv, that punani must've been hella good if you got him dropping ten g's on you." Angela quipped after they got off the phone with Fitz.
"Don't say that." Olivia groaned. "Makes me feel like a hooker. And the money is for the organization."
"Don't feel ashamed. I would've let him bleach me too."
Olivia shook her head as they pulled up to an aging single-family home with a sagging porch. Angela lived here with her mother and teenage siblings.
"You need prayer." Olivia told her.
"Don't we all?" Angela leaned over for a hug. "Thanks for the ride, Boo. Let us know when you get home."
"Of course. Love you."
"Love you too."
Annalise had already climbed out of the backseat, ready to hop up front with Olivia. She and Angela shared a quick embrace before she slid into the passenger seat. Olivia waited until Angela was safely inside before pulling away, heading toward Annalise's place.
"Ten grand is a lot of money," Annalise began after a few moments of silence, "but it somehow still doesn't feel like enough."
"Facts. We have to figure out how we're going to spread it out."
"We could use a good chunk of it to lease that empty storefront you found." Annalise suggested.
Olivia frowned. "I don't know… We need to be smart about where we put the money. That's not exactly high-priority right now."
"We need our own space to properly run the organization. We can't keep using the community center."
"And a tiny run-down storefront, we can barely afford, is better?"
"No, but it's a start. Having a physical space makes us look more legit. It shows we're here to stay and fight for our community. It gives people a place to find us when they need help."
Olivia let out a soft hum, "Good point, but the community center is free, which lets us put more money into our initiatives."
"Maybe more people would invest in us if they saw something concrete to invest in. Having real headquarters gives us credibility. It will be more than a location. It'll be a statement."
Olivia didn't know what to say to that. The rest of the drive passed in thoughtful silence, broken only by the steady hum of the engine and the occasional sound of tires on uneven pavement. Olivia gripped the wheel a little tighter, her mind racing as she mulled over the possibility of leasing the storefront. Could it work? Would it be worth the risk? Was it the right move for their ever-fledgling organization?
By the time they pulled up to Annalise's building, Olivia still didn't have an answer—but the seed had been planted, and it was already starting to take root.
"Thanks for the ride, Liv," Annalise said as she gathered her things. "And think about it, okay? This could be a game-changer."
"I'll think about it," Olivia promised, managing a small smile. "Get some rest. Love you."
"Love you," Annalise replied, giving Olivia a knowing look before heading inside.
Olivia drove home on autopilot, her exhaustion catching up to her the moment she stepped through her front door. She should've fallen asleep right away after her long night with Fitz and the busy day at the clinic, but her thoughts had other plans.
She tossed and turned, her mind weighing the pros and cons of leasing the storefront. It would give their organization a real home and a tangible presence in the community. But it also meant expenses they couldn't afford to waste if the location didn't pan out. It was a risk, and risks weren't something Olivia took lightly, especially when it came to the movement she cared so deeply about.
Would donors take them more seriously if they had a headquarters? Would their neighbors see them as more legitimate? Or would the money be better spent on immediate needs, like supplies for the clinic or resources for their outreach programs?
She sighed, flipping onto her back and staring at the ceiling as dawn crept through the blinds. Her exhaustion was no match for her restless mind.
By morning, she had a plan. She couldn't carry this decision alone—it wasn't just her organization. It belonged to everyone who believed in its mission. She'd call a meeting and put the decision to a vote. If the team wanted to move forward with leasing the storefront, they'd do it together. If not, they'd keep searching for the best way to use Fitz's donation.
Either way, Olivia resolved, they'd make the most of this opportunity. It was too important to waste.
The group of six stood in the middle of the small, musty space. The chipped walls, scuffed-up floors, and faint smell of mildew made the place look every bit as rundown as it was. Sunlight filtered through the dusty windows, casting streaks of light across the room.
"Okay, so it's… got potential," Harrison said optimistically, his hands on his hips as he took in the room.
"Hell yeah!" Angela spun in a slow circle, gesturing around. "It's crusty now, but imagine it with fresh paint, new floors, and maybe some curtains to soften it up. It'll be perfect."
"Or at least functional," Marcus quipped, giving one of the walls a tentative knock. A small puff of plaster dust fell to the floor.
"First thing we're doing is checking if this place passes a safety inspection," Huck muttered, his eyes scanning the ceiling like he was expecting it to collapse.
"Relax, Huck," Annalise said, walking toward the window. She brushed a hand across the sill, grimacing at the layer of grime. "A little elbow grease, some TLC, and this place will shine. It's ours now—that's what matters."
Olivia hung back, her arms crossed as she observed her team buzzing with excitement. Annalise caught the look on her face and walked over.
"You're not feeling it, are you?" Annalise asked quietly, leaning close.
"It's not that…" Olivia trailed off, sighing. "It's just—look at it. We barely have the money to keep the lights on, let alone fix all this. What if we bit off more than we can chew?"
Annalise put a reassuring hand on Olivia's shoulder. "You've got to stop seeing it for what it is and start seeing it for what it'll become. Picture it—community meetings, planning sessions, people walking in off the street because they finally know where to find us."
"Yeah, Liv," Angela chimed in, overhearing. "This place is a blank canvas. We can make it whatever we want it to be."
"It's gonna take a lot of work," Huck said, crouching down to inspect a warped floorboard.
"And a lot of money," Olivia added, her voice heavy with doubt.
"But it's worth it," Marcus interjected. "This is what we've been working toward, right? A space of our own. No more hopping from one borrowed room to another. This is home base."
Harrison clapped his hands together. "We should start brainstorming what we're gonna do with it. Maybe a mural? Something that represents the community."
"Definitely," Annalise agreed. "And we'll need furniture. Like a big table where we can all meet, shelves for supplies, maybe even a little coffee station."
"Coffee station?" Angela perked up. "Now we're talking."
Despite herself, Olivia couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm. She glanced around the room again, trying to see it the way they did—a place full of possibility instead of just problems.
"Okay," she said finally. "But we need to be smart about this. Let's prioritize what needs to be done first—cleaning, safety checks, and basic repairs. We can worry about murals and coffee stations later."
"That's the spirit," Annalise said, grinning. "Trust me, Liv. Once we get started, you'll see it all come together. You'll feel better when this place starts becoming what we all know it can be."
Olivia nodded, her shoulders relaxing a little. "Alright, let's do it."
The group exchanged determined smiles, spitballing more ideas as they fanned out around the room, pointing out what could be fixed, improved, and transformed. Though Olivia's apprehension lingered, a spark of hope began to grow.
So this chapter is a bit shorter than the previous ones, but it serves as a setup for what's to come next. Next chapter will be longer and a little more eventful. A few new characters will also be introduced. Thanks for reading!