Alexander's lips curved into a slow smirk as Whitcombe swiped through the videos.
"They don't have six hours," Alexander said calmly. "If this drags on, it becomes a loss for the taxpayers. Interim elections in five states aren't cheap."
Whitcombe looked up sharply, bristling. "Are you threatening us?" he snapped. "Do you really think you can get away with this?"
Alexander did.
He was well aware that his rise toward politics had been swift—like riding a luxury car at full speed. No legacy family. No inherited power. Just strategy, timing, and relentless work. And now, he was placing a deliberate obstacle on that path by challenging men who had ruled unchallenged for decades.
He didn't regret it.
Family came first. Always.
"Let's see," Alexander replied evenly, his expression unreadable.
"Leave!" Whitcombe barked, slamming his hand on the desk.
Alexander merely smirked.
