“No!” I cry out, crossing my arms and standing right in front of the entrance to my office building. The sidewalk is swarming with state troopers in grey uniforms, all of them eager to storm into my office. “This is bullshit, you can’t simply --”

“I have a court order right here, ma’am,” one of them, the one in charge, says. He steps forward and picks a folded piece of paper out from his jacket. He shoves it toward me and, with a frown, I snag it from his fingers.

Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on? I think to myself as I glance over the document. I’m being charged with sex trafficking, and the state troopers are here to shut down my business. The document is signed by one Judge Andrew McGill, a name that rings a bell. If I’m not mistaken, he’s one of my mother’s political allies. Which makes perfect sense—since I’m tied with Parker, my ruin will surely mean his ruin.

“This is bullshit!” I say again, stomping my foot against the floor and standing my ground. If these troopers want to take down my business, they can do it over my dead body. No way I’m going to let them in over some phony charges.

“This is the law, ma’am,” the man who handed me the court order barks, his fingers resting on the butt of his revolver. Just perfect. “Now stand aside,” he says, lowering his voice until it becomes just a whisper. The threat is implicit; if I don’t move out of his way, the troopers are going to use force.

There are at least twenty of them, all of them standing in a half-circle around me, a scowl on their faces. They came in their SUVs as if I were a terrorist, jumping out from their cars and establishing a perimeter around me as if I had a bomb strapped to my chest. Not a happy sight when you’ve just woken up half an hour ago and your brain's still rebooting.

“No,” I growl, opening my arms wide and blocking their path. “Over my dead body,” I whisper back at the trooper in front of me, and I see a hint of a grin flashing on his lips. He pulls his gun free from his holster belt, and he’s about to point it at me when the loud sound of engines grabs his attention.

I look over his shoulder just in time to see a limo parking in front of the building, two NYPD cars flanking it. The cavalry has arrived, and just in time.

“What the fuck’s going on here?” Parker cries out as he steps out of the limo, buttoning his jacket and walking toward me in a straight line. He shoves two troopers aside and then comes up to me. “You okay?” he whispers, and I just nod, running my tongue between my dry lips.

“Yeah, but this is… This is complete bullshit.”

“I know. Don’t worry; I've got this,” he says, and then turns on his heels to face the troopers. “Care to explain exactly what’s going on here?”

“Uh, sir, there’s a court order,” the tall trooper says, pointing at the document I'm still holding in my hand. “We’re here to shut down whatever’s going on in here, and a judge has signed off on it.”

“A judge?”

“Yeah, Judge McGill,” the trooper continues, taking his hat off and wiping the sweat off his brow. He thought this was going to be a clean operation, and now he’s being stared down by the mayor. “Governor Meelios ordered this investigation, and the judge has approved of the proceedings.”

“Governor Meelios, uh? Well, trooper, I must ask you to get back to your cars and get out of here,” Parker tells him, a deadly expression on his face. NYPD officers have started climbing out of their cars now, and they’re hanging back around the limo, hesitantly watching the scene unfold right in front of them. A crowd of onlookers has also started to gather on the sidewalk, a voyeuristic kind of confusion washing over everyone’s face. They were mildly interested in the commotion the state troopers were causing, but now that the Mayor has stepped onto the scene, everyone’s hooked. This beats reality TV, I guess.

“Sorry, sir, but… Uh… We can’t do that. Governor’s orders. We must go through with this,” the trooper continues, and I notice his fingers tightening around the butt of his gun. This isn’t good.

“Fuck the Governor. I’m the fucking Mayor,” Parker shoots back, and then raises his hand up in the air and waves at the NYPD officers. They stand up straight and walk toward both Parker and I, cutting their way through the troopers and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Parker, the palm of their hands resting on their still holstered guns.

“Sir, I don’t think that’s wise,” the head trooper hisses, looking at the wall of NYPD officers that has just formed in front of him.

“Well, I don’t think that you being here is wise either. So that has us at an impasse, trooper,” Parker growls, and then turns to the NYPD officers. “Don’t let any of these troopers through. This is a political vendetta, and I won’t let it happen in my city.”

“We’ll use force if necessary, sir,” the trooper threatens Parker, his voice hesitant but icy at the same time. Big mistake. Parker takes one step forward and, now towering over the trooper, he simply smiles.

“Go right ahead,” he whispers, and hesitation washes over the trooper's face. Nervously, he wipes the sweat off his brow once more and then turns on his heels, creating some distance between him and Parker.

“Form up!” he barks at the other troopers, assuming his position in their straight formation. He raises his gun up in the air, and the other troopers do the same, pointing their guns at Parker, me, and the NYPD officers.

“You’ve heard the Mayor, boys,” one of the NYPD officers shouts, and they all get their guns out at the same time. Oh, God, this is going downhill fast. I wasn’t exactly expecting a shootout when I woke up this morning.

“We’ll use force, sir, final warning!” the trooper shouts at Parker. The expression on Parker’s face hardens; and he walks straight toward the line of troopers, only stopping when the muzzle from the head trooper's gun is pressed against his chest.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Parker growls, and I feel nauseous for a very long second, imagining the sound of a gun going off. Then, moving fast, Parker grabs the troopers’ gun and takes it out from his hands. “Thought so,” he says, emptying the gun’s chamber and then throwing it to the ground. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

With one deadly last stare at Parker, the trooper’s pale lips tightly purse into one thin line, and he finally turns on his heels and orders his subordinates to follow after him. In a matter of just a few seconds, they get back in their cars and disappear, almost as if they were never here in the first place.

I was right; my mother is more than willing to go to war.

And this is just the beginning.