By evening, the city was glued to one thing:
The TV screen.
Every major news station had the same banner running at the bottom.
LIVE: SENATOR RICHARD WILLIAMS RESPONDS TO CORRUPTION ALLEGATIONS
In the Williams' living room, the air was tight.
The TV brightness reflected off the polished surfaces. The curtains were drawn. The house staff moved quietly in the background, pretending not to listen while listening to every word.
Amara sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows on her knees, fingers woven together so tightly her knuckles were pale.
Her mother sat beside her, hands folded in her lap.
Her uncle paced behind them like a storm that refused to settle.
On the screen, Senator Richard Williams adjusted his tie and faced the interviewer with a composed expression.
"Thank you for joining us, Senator," the interviewer said. "Let's get straight to it. The past few days, a certain set of documents have appeared online, linking you to a questionable government contract from years ago…"
Amara swallowed.
She knew this part already.
But hearing it out loud still stung.
Her father smiled faintly, the practiced smile of a man who'd faced more enemies than his own daughter could count.
"Yes, I've seen the documents," he said. "And I understand why people are concerned."
"Are they real?" the interviewer asked.
Silence filled the living room.
Amara's heart beat faster.
Her father nodded once.
"The documents are real," he said. "But the story that is being told around them is not complete."
Her uncle muttered something under his breath.
The interviewer leaned forward.
"Help us understand then," he said. "On paper, it looks like money was redirected. A shell company. Extra funds. People see this and think, 'corruption.' What do you say to that?"
The senator clasped his hands.
"Politics," he said slowly, "is full of alliances, bargains, and difficult choices. Years ago, the system I walked into was already damaged and twisted. I had two options: stay outside and complain… or go inside and try to fix what I could."
"And redirecting funds?" the interviewer pressed. "Was that part of 'fixing' things?"
"There was a project," Senator Williams said. "A road construction that was dying because of neglected areas and unpaid workers. Money was stuck in the wrong places. Did we reroute funds? Yes. Was it done to steal? No. And I'm prepared to show every record, every audit, every signature that proves it."
Amara watched his face closely.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't dodge.
He didn't look away.
The interviewer wasn't satisfied.
"Some believe your brother benefited from the deal—"
"My brother has made mistakes," the senator cut in. "I won't stand here and pretend my entire extended family is perfect. But I will stand here and say this: I have never stolen from the people I serve to make myself richer. I have never taken a bribe to look away from crimes."
The uncle stopped pacing.
The room grew very quiet.
"Then why are these documents coming out now?" the interviewer asked. "Why do you think people are suddenly interested in something from years ago?"
A small smile tugged at the senator's mouth.
"Because someone is afraid," he said. "Afraid of my rising support. Afraid that I might just be able to make changes that threaten their comfort."
"Are you saying this is a political attack?" the interviewer asked.
"I'm saying," the senator replied, "that truth can be used like a weapon when it is cut into pieces and thrown without context."
He turned to face the camera more directly.
"If the people want explanations, I will give them," he said. "If the authorities want documents, I will bring them. I will not run, I will not hide, and I will not pretend to be perfect. But I will also not step back because someone is throwing old shadows at me."
He paused.
"And if this is the best my opponents can do," he added, "then I am more confident than ever that we are doing something right."
The interviewer tried to push more.
Questions about ethics. Questions about corruption in general. Questions about the uncle.
The senator answered each one calmly.
He didn't attack anyone by name, but anyone watching could feel that he knew exactly who had started this.
When the program cut to a commercial, the sound in the living room burst back to life.
"That was risky," the uncle snapped. "Admitting the documents are real? You just gave them more fuel!"
"What did you want me to do?" the senator said, loosening his tie as he stood. "Lie on live TV and let them produce evidence later that proves I lied? That would have killed us faster."
His wife rose too.
"At least you looked honest," she said. "People might respect that."
"Might," the uncle muttered. "Or they might tear him apart for it."
Amara stood slowly.
Her father noticed her by the doorway.
"Amara," he said. "You should be resting."
"I'm tired of resting," she said. "I wanted to hear you from your own mouth."
His expression softened.
He walked over to her, the weight of the day visible in his shoulders.
"What did you hear?" he asked.
"I heard you tell the truth," she said. "Or at least… the kind of truth people can handle on live television."
A small, tired smile pulled at his lips.
"I'm sorry, baby," he said. "This isn't what I wanted for you. The attacks, the comments, the staring. You should be worrying about your studies, not my political wars."
"It's not your fault someone is scared of you," she replied.
The uncle snorted.
"I wish fear was all this was," he said. "This feels like the beginning of something much worse."
He walked out, muttering about calls he needed to make.
Her mother touched the senator's arm.
"You did well," she whispered. "Go and drink some water. Your voice is rough."
He nodded and followed her out of the room.
Soon, the living room was empty.
Except for Amara.
She stood there a moment longer, staring at the frozen image of her father's face on the black screen, before finally grabbing the remote and turning off the TV.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
She took it out and saw a text.
From Daniel.
"Saw the interview. Your father can handle fire."
She exhaled slowly, then typed back.
"He's used to burning."
A few seconds later:
"And you? How are you handling the smoke?"
She glanced around the quiet room.
For all the noise on television and online, this house suddenly felt too still.
"Choking a little," she replied. "But I'll survive."
"Want to step out for a bit?" he sent. "Somewhere that doesn't have a TV reminding you your father is trending."
She stared at the message.
A tiny part of her brain whispered:
You barely know this man.
Another part whispered:
You're tired. And with him, you feel… normal.
She typed slowly.
"Tomorrow. Same café. After my afternoon class."
"I'll be there," he replied.
She put the phone away, feeling a strange mixture of guilt and relief.
Upstairs, in a completely different part of the city, Daniel's laptop screen showed the replay of the same interview.
He watched the senator's expression in slow motion.
Noticing every flicker. Every pause. Every carefully chosen word.
Mara's voice came through his earpiece.
"So?" she asked. "What do you see?"
He leaned back, eyes still on the screen.
"A man who isn't clean," Daniel said quietly. "But also not as dirty as our client wants him to look."
"Good," Mara replied. "That means this will hurt more when we go deeper."
He didn't answer.
Because somewhere inside him, something disagreed.
And for the first time, the thought came with a sharp, dangerous ache:
What if you're on the wrong side?