Author Games: Ace of Spades

Finals: Florence French

BREAKING NEWS: FLORENCE FRENCH, 33, SOLE SURVIVOR OF LAST NIGHT'S MILENA SEBLE MASSACRE. VIGIL TO BE HELD FOR THE NINETEEN VICTIMS OF PSYCHOTIC MASS MURDER.

She dropped the paper before her, pausing for a moment before looking the man in the eye. "A headline from twelve years ago, Secretary Cromwell? If that's all the dirt you have on me, you may as well leave now."

            The man behind her was kindly in his appearance, and yet Florence French knew him to be anything but. Aaron Cromwell was a fierce fighter when he had a cause, and a man as aggressive as a tiger when he had a goal in mind – and his goal that day was the greatest one an American could ever hope to achieve: the White House itself. No, there was no love lost between the two whatsoever. Respect, however, was a thing which Florence had found could be far more useful – but that was faltering as well.

            "This is no news, Senator French; the entire nation was wowed by how well you managed to rebuild your life after the tragedy you have endured. Finalizing your divorce, going back to school, being elected senator of New York while still a student. You have made history. You truly are a modern Cinderella."

            She smiled upon hearing this. The years had been kind to her, that was no lie; it was a miracle what a million dollars and some recognition had done for her. The book deal had come first, of course, followed by the scholarships – some from feminist organizations trying to help women in her situation, some from humanitarian groups who just wanted to right the wrongs that had been made to her. By the time she had reached college, she'd had enough in donations not to spend a single dollar from the million she had been given.

            The campaign trail had been even easier.

            The trick to a successful election season, Florence had known, was a strong platform or recognition, and she'd had both. She was oh so touched by the goodness the people of America had shown her, particularly in New York, and all she wanted was to pay them back. The tragedy had shocked her so, pushed her out of the comfort of being a republican house wife and firmly into the grasp of the democratic party and into being an anti-gun lobbyist. It isn't real until it happens to you, had been her campaign platform, but if you wait until you're the victim of gun violence, it's already become too late.

            She'd won the election by twenty-five points, something that had never even come close to having precedent in history.

            Even after her election, she had continued to prove herself worthy of America. By 2026, two years after her election, she had managed to pass anti-gun legislation in a Republican senate and shut down multiple anti-abortion bills, as well as defended the interests of women and the LGBT community. Her potential candidacy had been a topic of conversation for over a year before she had finally announced she would, in fact, be running for president.

            The election, just like everything else, would be a clinch.

            "Unfortunately for you, Senator French, I don't believe in Cinderella stories."

            "Then I must have changed your mind."

            The civility that had filled the room moments ago had vanished almost completely, and, all of a sudden, it felt as though the air had frozen over. The gentleness in Cromwell's eyes had turned to steel, and the sweetness to Florence's voice had grown as sharp as the deadliest of swords. Within moments, a cordial meeting had turned into a verbal showdown – a mere show of power. That was the nature of politics, however; knives and daggers hiding behind a series of handshakes and polite, curt smiles. It was nothing but smokescreens and two-way mirrors, moves and countermoves.