But, he added, raising a hand to stop Pendleton's impending protest. You may follow me. One vehicle, no sirens. Pendleton let out a long breath, recognizing the stubbornness that had won David the election. Understood, sir.
David turned back to Chief Harrison one last time. You have until tomorrow morning to draft your letter of resignation, chief. If it is not on my desk by 8 a.m., the state attorney general will announce a full federal consent decree investigation into Oak Haven County. Do you understand me? Harrison swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to the wet pavement.
Yes, Governor. 10 minutes later, David Caldwell was back behind the wheel of his Explorer. The heater was running again. The radio was off. In his rear view mirror, the headlights of a single black state police Tahoe followed closely.
A silent armored guardian in the night as he drove away from the flashing lights of Rusty's gas and go. David felt a profound heavy sadness settle over him. He had survived the encounter because he was the governor. He had survived because he had a command center tracking his every move, ready to rain down the full might of the state at a moment's notice. But as he drove through the dark, winding roads toward the hospital, he thought about the men who didn't have a command center, the men who didn't have gold embossed badges, the men who sat in the back of cruisers just like mercers, their pleas falling on deaf ears, swallowed by the darkness of a rural highway.
When David finally pulled into the parking lot of Oak Haven Regional Hospital, it was past midnight. He walked through the sliding glass doors, his wet shoes squeaking on the lenolium. Pendleton flanked him, keeping a respectful distance, but remaining highly alert. David found his mother's room on the third floor. Grace Caldwell was awake, sitting up slightly in her hospital bed, the soft glow of a late night television illuminating her face.
She was a strong, pragmatic woman who had raised a son to break every barrier placed in his way. "You're late," she said, her voice raspy but warm, a small smile playing on her lips. David walked in, pulling off his damp baseball cap. He sat on the edge of her bed, taking her fragile hand in his. For the first time all night, the armor cracked.
The adrenaline faded, leaving only the exhaustion of a son who had almost been stolen away in the dark. "I ran into some traffic, Mom," David whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "But I'm here. I'm right here. " By 6:00 a.m. Wednesday morning, the state capital in the city of Richmond was a fortress of organized panic.
Inside the governor's secure executive suite, coffee cups were piling up on the mahogany conference table. Jonathan Pierce, David's razor sharp chief of staff, was pacing the length of the room, his phone glued to his ear. Captain Arthur Pendleton stood quietly in the corner, his uniform impeccably pressed, betraying none of the chaos from the night before. David Caldwell sat at the head of the table in a crisp navy blue suit. The raw red abrasions on his wrists were carefully concealed beneath his starched white cuffs.