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.