Chapter One

The White House Briefing Room was packed, as it always was when something—or someone—died. Reporters clutched their notepads and microphones with the barely contained eagerness of vultures circling a particularly juicy roadkill. The air hummed with whispered speculation, the kind that thickened whenever there was an unexpected vacancy in high places.

Vicki Smith, White House Press Secretary, took her place at the podium, adjusting her blazer as though the act might somehow rearrange her entire life into something more manageable. It would not.

She cleared her throat, shuffled her notes, and promptly dropped them onto the floor.

"Oh, shoot—okay, one second," she mumbled, bending down. The microphone picked up an unfortunate crack as her knee popped audibly. A few reporters chuckled. She hastily gathered the pages, some now out of order, and tried to recover whatever dignity she still possessed. "Right, okay. Good morning. Thank you for being here."

Silence. The kind that waits for someone to make a mistake.

"I have a sad announcement today. Um, it is with deep regret that I confirm the passing of Supreme Court Associate Justice Margaret Egley. She—uh, she has died."

A few pens stopped moving mid-scratch. Someone coughed.

"Yes, uh, she passed away late last night at the age of eighty-seven, from, um…" She squinted at her notes. This was the part she had been specifically told not to mess up. "…from… natural causes. Very natural. Just… the most natural causes."

The room stared at her. One reporter, a seasoned veteran of disaster briefings, tilted his head like a confused beagle.

"To clarify," Vicki babbled on, feeling the weight of the silence crushing her, "she was… old. Not too old! I mean, a very respectable, distinguished level of old. And sometimes, when people reach that, uh, stage of life, their body just… stops. In a dignified way."

A collective inhale filled the room, the sound of journalists deciding whether to be horrified or delighted.

She fumbled for her water bottle, took a quick sip, and immediately choked on it. A violent coughing fit ensued, making her eyes water. She waved a hand, signaling that she was, in fact, not dying at the podium. Unlike, she reminded herself bleakly, Justice Egley.

"Is there a confirmed cause of death?" someone finally asked, taking pity on her spiraling.

"Oh! Yes. Very confirmed. Very natural," Vicki repeated, nodding so emphatically that her earring fell out and bounced onto the podium. "Just the usual… natural… things that happen when people, um, expire? Of course, we will allow medical professionals to determine the specifics of those, uh, natural things, but I can assure you there was no, you know… funny business."

"Funny business?" a reporter echoed, clearly taking notes.

Vicki swore under her breath. "I mean foul play! Not funny business. Not that death is funny, obviously. Death is very serious. But in this case, it was a very, very normal and unremarkable death. Very boring. Just a standard, ordinary, everyday expiration of human life."

The room was silent.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "That sounded worse, didn’t it?"

"Yes," muttered Phil Grayson, the White House Communications Director, from the sidelines, looking as if he were contemplating faking his own death to escape this moment.

"Right, okay, moving on!" Vicki chirped, desperate to flee this sentence graveyard she had dug herself into. "The President and First Lady extend their deepest condolences to Justice Egley’s family. She was a—" she squinted again at her notes, realizing too late that she had smudged the ink with her own sweaty fingers, "—a pillar of… wisdom and, uh, laws."

A younger journalist up front stifled a laugh. Vicki tried to power through.

"Her decades of service to the court will, of course, be remembered, and her… contributions to American law are…" She was now staring at the page as if sheer willpower would make the ink legible again. "…considerable."

More scribbling from the reporters. Possibly: Justice Egley’s Contributions Considered ‘Considerable,’ Says Press Secretary.

Vicki cleared her throat for the hundredth time. "And, of course, the President will make a formal statement later today. We will provide further details about funeral arrangements as they become available. Now, I will take a few questions."

Hands shot up. She braced herself.

"Who discovered Justice Egley’s body?"

"Her assistant," Vicki answered quickly. "Who, I assure you, was not traumatized. Well, I mean, I can’t say that for sure. I imagine finding a dead person is, you know, unpleasant, but—" She stopped herself before she could elaborate further. "I’m sorry, next question."

"How does the administration plan to handle the Supreme Court vacancy?"

"Oh! That’s an excellent question!" She exhaled in relief. Finally, something she was prepped for. "The President understands the importance of this appointment and will take great care in nominating a qualified candidate. He will not rush this process, but, of course, he recognizes the need to fill the vacancy in a timely manner. We expect more details on that in the coming weeks."

A slight nod of approval from Phil. A minor miracle.

"Will Justice Egley lie in state at the Capitol?"

Vicki faltered. "Oh, uh. You know, I’m not sure. She—she should, right? I mean, she was a Supreme Court Justice. That seems like a thing that would happen. But I don’t want to say for sure because I don’t actually know. I’ll check! But if she does, you know, lie anywhere, I assume it will be somewhere… respectful."

More notes. Possibly: White House Unsure Where Justice Egley’s Body Will Lie.

Phil was now massaging his temples.

"Okay!" Vicki slapped her hands on the podium. "That’s all for today. Thank you, and, uh, may Justice Egley rest in peace."

She turned so fast she smacked her shoulder on the podium. Reporters were still shouting questions as she stumbled off the stage, making her escape before she could inflict any more damage on the dignity of the departed.

Phil fell into step beside her, his expression unreadable. "That was the worst thing I’ve ever seen."

"It wasn’t that bad!" she protested. "I mean, I got through it, right?"

Phil sighed. "Vicki, you said the words ‘standard, ordinary, everyday expiration of human life’ on live television."

She groaned. "Oh my God. I did, didn’t I?"

Phil gave her a look that said yes, you absolutely did. "We are going to spend the rest of the day cleaning up this mess. The President is going to be furious."

"Okay, okay, I’ll do better next time."

Phil shook his head. "Next time, you are saying exactly three sentences: ‘We confirm the death. The President sends condolences. We will update you soon.’ That’s it."

Vicki nodded, her mind already racing through how she would spin this disaster later. She had survived this briefing. Justice Egley, unfortunately, had not.

###

Judge Jason Simpson leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against the thick case file before him. The cavernous federal courtroom had an air of forced solemnity, though the proceedings had long since veered into absurdity. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled slowly, and then turned his gaze to the young lawyer at the government’s table—who, at that very moment, was adjusting his tie with the kind of nervous energy usually reserved for first dates and job interviews.

"Mr. Feldman," Judge Simpson drawled, "you have, thus far, delivered what I can only describe as an enthusiastic but deeply misguided argument. Would you like to try again before I succumb to a migraine?"

Samuel Feldman, all of twenty-six and barely six months out of law school, swallowed visibly. "Yes, Your Honor, I—uh—just to clarify, are you asking me to restate my argument, or—?"

Judge Simpson sighed. "I’m asking you, Mr. Feldman, to present something resembling an argument. Something with logic, ideally. Coherence would be a bonus."

From the other side of the courtroom, James Hardwick, lead counsel for Argus Energy, leaned back in his chair, looking downright amused. He had argued in this courtroom more times than he could count, and it was clear he had been expecting an easy victory. Now, he was simply enjoying the show.

Feldman cleared his throat, shuffled his papers, and stood a little straighter. "Your Honor, the EPA’s decision to halt the Argus Pipeline was rooted in a fundamental commitment to environmental protection. Under the Clean Water Act, Section 401 grants states the authority to review and—"

Judge Simpson held up a hand. "Mr. Feldman, let’s stop right there. Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that I haven’t read the Clean Water Act cover to cover, which I have. Can you explain to me, in simple terms, why the EPA waited until construction was already underway to determine that the pipeline posed an environmental risk?"

Feldman hesitated. "Well, Your Honor, the EPA had conducted preliminary reviews, but further assessments revealed additional concerns—"

"Uh-huh. Concerns that mysteriously arose after the company had invested millions of dollars and cleared countless regulatory hurdles? Fascinating timing, wouldn’t you say?"

Feldman’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

"Let me rephrase the question," the judge continued, his tone like the edge of a well-honed blade. "Are you telling me that Argus Energy followed every legal requirement, obtained every necessary permit, and still found itself at the mercy of bureaucratic second-guessing?"

Feldman floundered. "I—well, it’s—the EPA was exercising due diligence."

Hardwick chuckled under his breath. Simpson shot him a look that said not yet, then turned his attention back to Feldman. "Due diligence?" he repeated. "Mr. Feldman, do you know what due diligence actually means?"

Feldman blinked. "Yes, Your Honor, it means—"

"Because I’d argue that due diligence would’ve involved making a decision before half the pipeline was in the ground. You see the problem, don’t you?"

Feldman shifted awkwardly. "The EPA acted in the public interest, Your Honor."

"The public interest," Simpson mused, leaning forward. "Fascinating. Tell me, Mr. Feldman, do you believe businesses operating in this country have any reasonable expectation of regulatory consistency?"

"Yes, but—"

"And do you believe agencies should be able to revoke approvals without clear justification?"

"That’s not what happened—"

Simpson raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like a company jumped through every hoop, secured every approval, and then had the rug pulled out from under them because the EPA suddenly got cold feet. That’s what happened, isn’t it?"

Feldman’s face turned red. "Your Honor, the EPA is tasked with ensuring compliance with environmental standards."

"Right. And what’s the environmental violation in this case?"

Feldman hesitated. "The potential for contamination—"

"Potential?" Simpson’s tone sharpened. "So, no actual contamination. Just potential. Mr. Feldman, if we based legal rulings on potential problems, half the economy would grind to a halt."

Hardwick smirked. He didn’t even need to argue the case—Judge Simpson was doing it for him.

Simpson sighed, tossing his pen onto the desk. "Mr. Feldman, here’s the issue. The government can’t just change its mind midstream without a compelling reason. You can’t tell a company ‘yes, go ahead’ and then, months later, say ‘actually, never mind’ just because someone in an office somewhere had second thoughts."

Feldman opened his mouth, then closed it. It was, objectively, a terrible argument to counter.

Judge Simpson turned to Hardwick. "Mr. Hardwick, do you have anything to add before I make my ruling?"

Hardwick stood, buttoning his jacket with practiced ease. "Only to say, Your Honor, that Argus Energy complied with every regulation, operated in good faith, and is now being penalized for its diligence. We ask that the court recognize the injustice in that."

Judge Simpson nodded. "Understood." He glanced once more at Feldman, who looked as though he wished the earth would swallow him whole. "Mr. Feldman, any last words?"

Feldman hesitated. Then, in a final, desperate attempt, he muttered, "Environmental law exists to protect future generations."

Simpson snorted. "And contract law exists to protect businesses from this exact kind of nonsense."

He picked up his gavel. "The court finds in favor of Argus Energy. The EPA’s revocation of permits is overturned. The pipeline construction may resume immediately. Court is adjourned."

He brought the gavel down with a decisive thud. Hardwick smiled, shook hands with his team, and began gathering his notes. Feldman, meanwhile, remained standing at the government’s table, staring blankly at his papers, his legal career flashing before his eyes.

As the courtroom emptied, Judge Simpson leaned back, rubbing his temples. He had a headache, but at least the case was over.

It was going to be a long day.