The tension in the Oval Office was thick enough to cut with a knife. The air smelled of coffee and ink-stained documents scattered across Matthew Hesh's desk. His closest advisors stood around him, their faces grim, their voices hushed.
Attorney General Whitaker sat across from Hesh, his fingers clasped together. Collins paced near the fireplace, running a hand through his hair. The latest reports had arrived, and they weren't good.
"Mr. President," Whitaker began, his voice level but urgent, "we have confirmed reports that rogue elements in the military are moving into key positions around the city. Some police precincts have gone dark, and National Guard armories are being raided."
Hesh inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. "How many?"
Collins looked up from the report he was scanning. "Enough to be a problem. If we don't act now, we lose control of the capital before midnight."
