The room was silent, save for the rhythmic tapping of President Matthew Hesh's fingers against the polished oak desk. He had barely slept in the past few days, the weight of the nation's future pressing down on his shoulders. The war declaration sat before him, an inked document awaiting his signature. Ten days—he had ten days to act before Congress forced his hand.
And time was running out.
Collins entered the room, his expression grim.
"Sir, we've received word from the Mexican government."
Matthew straightened. "And?"
Collins hesitated. "They have nothing."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Matthew inhaled deeply. "Damn it."
Velásquez, the Mexican Ambassador, had promised proof—something tangible that could expose the lie, something that could put this entire war to rest. But now, Mexico had come up empty-handed.
