I think, he said, we should do quality testing. They have companies… DNA, you know.”
He leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink, for now he was certain to be a quality whiskey, served over ice.
She thought for a moment, I’ve been here before.
I know this station.
I’ve seen this place, and met this man.
His motus operendi.
That I am just a lesser man.
But there was nothing she could do at that point in time.
For he had seen her too.
And Hillary was Trumped.