Page 67 of State of Affairs (First Family 1)

He answered a number of similar questions from other network and newspaper reporters, who were looking for details he simply didn’t have. Then he called on a reporter he didn’t recognize, who was seated in the back of the room.

“Mr. President, can you please tell us more about the party you attended earlier today in the midst of this crisis with Iran?”

“I’d be happy to tell you that I returned to my home for thirty minutes between meetings so I could see my six-year-old twins on their birthday.”

“Do you think that was the right message to send to the American people who were worried about the situation in Iran?”

“I wasn’t sending a message to the American people. I was sending a message to my children that their birthday is important to me. At no time was I out of touch with my advisers, and as we weren’t expecting an update from the Iranians until hours later, I took advantage of the break in the action to tend to my family.”

“Isn’t it true that the children in question aren’t technically your children?”

The question enraged him, as it had when it was raised in the past. “I think most Americans are able to understand that the concept of ‘family’ has many different meanings to many different people. That’s all for now. We’ll provide an update after Secretary Ruskin and the others are back in the country.”

He left the podium and walked out of the room, his entire body vibrating with rage over the outrageous questions. “Let’s figure out who posted the photo. I’m going to enforce that NDA.”

“Yes, sir,” Trevor said. “We’ll get right on that.”

“Brant, I want to go home.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nick had had more than enough of this day.

On the way to Rhode Island Avenue, Sam caught Nick’s press conference, which had been carried live on the radio. While she was relieved to hear that the secretary and the other Americans were on their way home, she was furious with the questions he’d been asked about the twins. Why did people have to be so insensitive about what constituted a family?

Families came in all shapes and sizes. Working to bring attention to the many issues involved with infertility, adoption, surrogacy, foster care and other associated subjects would be a focus for Sam as first lady. She hadn’t asked for the massive platform that came with her new role, but now that she had it, she would use it to call for sensitivity and empathy and to celebrate the American family in all its many forms.

She would also continue to advocate for law enforcement concerns, including racial justice, as well as advocating for spinal cord injury research in honor of her father and learning disabilities related to her lifelong struggle with dyslexia. If there was anything good about Nick being president and her being first lady, it was the opportunity to shine a light on issues that mattered to them.

On Rhode Island Avenue, she spotted the emergency vehicles, parked a block from them and jogged toward the scene, ducking under yellow crime scene tape that surrounded the body of a man on the sidewalk. Upon a quick glance, she noted the man was young, Black and lying in a pool of blood coming from a chest wound.

“What do we know?” Sam asked the Patrol officers at the scene.

“We received a 911 call about a body on the sidewalk, and when we got here a minute ago, this is what we found. We checked for a pulse but couldn’t find one.”

Sam squatted for a better look at the young man and the wound that’d ended his life. “Have you gotten an ID?”

“We only touched him to check for a pulse, but didn’t want to go any further until you arrived.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Not that we’ve found yet.”

“You’ve called the medical examiner?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Any sign of the weapon that caused the wound?”

“Not, but we haven’t looked yet. We only got here two minutes before you did.”

Sam pulled gloves from her coat pocket and checked for herself to make sure the man had no pulse. A faint sound in the alley to her left caught her attention. Sam moved quickly to investigate, withdrawing her weapon from the holster on her hip and holding it in front of her while signaling to the other officers to back her up as she crept toward the sound. “Flashlight?”

One of them illuminated the alley, where a naked young Black woman watched them with big, haunted eyes. She had abrasions and cuts all over her and was bleeding from her face or neck. Sam rushed to her side, trying to determine where the blood was coming from. “Call for a bus and get me something to cover her with.”

A bloody knife was on the ground next to her.

“Are you cut?”

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