Washington D.C., the Senate Office Building.
Russell Warren was sitting behind his desk, a pen in his hand, hovering over a document.
"Boss, Ron Smith has been trying to get in touch with you."
His chief of staff, David Kingsley, reported in a low voice, standing before the desk.
"He says the whole thing was a misunderstanding. That he was forced to work with that kid from Pittsburgh for the sake of jobs in Erie. He wants to come to Washington to explain in person."
The pen in Warren's hand came down, and he signed his name on the document.
"That won't be necessary."
Warren closed the document and casually tossed it aside.
"Tell Ron I'm busy."
He looked up, his gaze icy through the thick lenses of his glasses.
"That's my money," Warren said, pointing to the document he'd just signed. "And that's my district."
"Ron, and that Joe Byers from Scranton, they seem to have forgotten that. They think that as long as I stay quiet, they can have it both ways."
