Chapter Three

Sara closed her laptop and walked to the kitchen. Made fresh coffee. Sat at her small table and stared out the window at nothing in particular.

Marcus Riley was dead.

She’d spent months cataloguing his speeches, his social media posts, his careful dance between mainstream conservatism and something darker. Riley talked about “demographic replacement” and “feminist poison” while wearing suits and citing scripture. He made misogyny sound like family values.

And now he was a martyr.

Her phone sat silent on the counter, but she could feel the internet burning through the walls. Thousands of people typing furiously about a man they’d barely heard of twelve hours ago. Riley the truth-teller. Riley the patriot. Riley the voice they tried to silence.

Sara sipped her coffee and tried to think clearly.

Why this death? Why this man?

Politicians had been shot before. Activists murdered. But something about Riley’s assassination was different. Maybe it was the timing—eight weeks before midterms. Maybe it was the venue—an outdoor rally that looked deliberately presidential. Maybe it was Riley himself, positioned perfectly between the fringe and the mainstream, close enough to power to matter but controversial enough to energize.

Or maybe it was simpler than that.

Maybe they just needed someone to die.

Her phone buzzed. A text from her editor: Phoenix flight leaves at 6. Pack light.

Sara finished her coffee and went to pack. But first, she opened her laptop one more time and scrolled through the tributes already flooding social media. Photos of Riley she’d never seen before—with his family, at church, shaking hands with senators.

The internet was writing a new story about Marcus Riley. And Sara was starting to understand that the man who died today wasn’t the same man who would be remembered tomorrow.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​