This is it, the final showdown, I think to myself, forehead pressed against the limo’s window as we roll down the deserted streets. The National Guard is already on their way to my company’s offices, and Parker and I are heading there to stop them. Or, well, try to. I don’t really see what we can do, but Parker seems confident enough to give me just a sliver of hope.

The NYPD has already closed off the streets and evacuated the block where I have my offices, all to try and stop this from turning into a bloodbath. There’s an eerie feeling in the air, and I can’t help but feel anxious about the whole thing. It's show time, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.

“We’re here, sir,” the limo driver tells us politely, halting the limo right in front of the building where just weeks ago we had a standoff with the state troopers.

“Let’s go,” Parker tells me, squeezing my hand in his and opening the door on his side of the limo. He steps outside into the cold New York morning sun and I follow after him, straightening the front of my dress nervously.

There are at least twenty NYPD cars parked in the street in front of my building, each of them carrying at least five police officers. And that’s just the regular force—aside from them, there are also two SWAT teams and a full platoon of NYPD officers in riot gear.

“She’ll be here anytime now,” Parker tells me and, as if to compliment his words, the sound of helicopters closing in on us echoes throughout the street. I look up at the sky, anxiety gripping my heart, and then two helicopters come into view, their rotary blades raising a wind that lashes at my hair. Ignoring the battalion of NYPD officers, they land right in the middle of the street, and camouflaged soldiers start pouring out in a rush, clutching their heavy rifles to their chests.

She wasn’t kidding; she really brought the National Guard into this.

I look down the street as the roar of heavy engines reach my ears, and I do it just in time to see a parade of armored vehicles heading toward the blockade the NYPD has set up. More soldiers pour from the armored trucks, a few of them barking orders and bringing everyone into formation.

Okay, this is seriously getting out of hand.

One of the soldiers that came on the helicopter starts walking toward Parker, his rifle slung over his shoulder, and stops just a few feet away from him.

“Sir, we’re going to shut down your… stepdaughter’s business,” he says with a harsh edge, the seniority of his rank coming through his voice, and then waves at the apparatus surrounding us. “You know there isn’t a happy ending to be had from pitting the NYPD against the National Guard, sir, so it’s my duty to ask you to stand down. Let us do our job.”

“I know where you’re coming from, soldier,” Parker responds stoically, standing his ground. “But it’s also my duty to stand up to sociopathic politicians. Which is what I’m doing here. It’s high time someone stops this so-called governor.”

“Sir, this is --”

“I’m not getting out of the way, soldier, so if you want to shoot me just do it already,” Parker cuts him short, lowering his voice and balling his hands into fists. The soldier stares at him for a few seconds, the air around them crackling with electric tension, and then he just snaps his heels together and turns around, walking back to the helicopters.

“I think you better head home, Amy,” Parker whispers, looking at me with concerned eyes. “This might get ugly.”

“No, I’ll stay with you. Always,” I tell him, grabbing his arm and pressing my body against his. Whatever happens, I’ll be standing by his side, and I’ll do it to the very end.

Keeping his silence, Parker just nods at me, and then lays a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Look, here she comes,” he whispers then, pointing with his head at the end of the street. Emerging from between the National Guard trucks, a stretch limo rolls all the way up to the blockade. It stops a few inches away from the NYPD officers manning a blockade, and then the driver leaves his seat and walks around the limo, opening one of the doors.

Two high heels touch the road, and then my mother rises from inside the limo, a vibrant red dress clinging to her curves. True to herself, she came in dressed for a celebration; she thinks victory is just at arm’s reach. Which isn’t too far from the truth: if she orders the National Guard to start shooting, it’s a done deal. Except I’m betting she’ll only do that as a last resort. Despite having the public’s support, it’d be a huge risk to paint the streets of New York in crimson.

“Get out of my way,” I hear her hiss at the NYPD officers, and she strolls past them without a care in the world, ignoring the guns in their hands. She walks toward Parker and I with a victorious grin on her face, the click of her heels on the concrete like a bad omen.

“Time to lay down, Parker,” she tells him, stopping right in front of him. “Or do you want a bloodbath in your beloved streets?”

“Fuck off, Kate,” he growls, his hands once again balled into fists. “You should be the one laying down.”

“Me?” she laughs, the sound of her voice vibrant and cheery. “I’m not the one with a noose around my neck.”

“The tides turn fast, Kate… Faster than you’ll know,” Parker responds, and my mother just laughs again.

“Oh, that’s funny. You’ve always had a poetic streak to you, Parker. Too bad it won’t do you any good. You’re done. The only question remaining is… Are you sure you want to order these men to their death?” she asks him, looking around at the dozens of NYPD officers encircling us. “Because that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t get out of the way.”

“I’m not ordering anyone, Kate,” Parker says out loud, his lips slowly curling into a smile. “They all volunteered. Right, boys?” he asks, louder this time, his voice echoing throughout the street.

“FUCKING-A!” One of the NYPD officers shouts, and the others shout in agreement. “We have your back, mayor,” the officer continues, and Parker’s smile widens.

“They’re here because they’re loyal, Kate. Which is something you’ll never be able to understand. You managed to pull the National Guard into this, but do you really want to see how far they’ll go? How loyal they are to you? Just tell them to point their guns at their fellow Americans and see what happens. I fucking dare you,” he growls.

I watch the whole scene in silence, looking from Parker to my mother. Should Parker even be this confident? My mother’s insane enough to follow his advice and order the National Guard to start shooting.

“You’re fucking insane, Parker,” she tells him, that shit-eating grin still on her face. “And that’s going to cost you. Perhaps your life,” she whispers, turning on her heels and walking straight toward the senior National Guard soldier.

“Get these two out of the way!” she barks, and the moment she says it the NYPD close in on Parker and I, forming a human barrier between us and the National Guard.

“Over our dead bodies!” they shout, taking their guns out of their holsters. The first row of officers begin to kneel on the floor, offering the second row a clear shot.

“Stand down, boys,” Parker suddenly says, letting go of me and walking past the NYPD barrier. “No bullets will be fired today.”

“What now, Parker? Want to be the first one in line to have your brains blown out?” my mother snaps at him, visibly annoyed. “Shoot him!” she barks at one of the soldiers but, even though he raises his rifle and points it at Parker, he hesitates.

And then Parker speaks.

“This ends now, Kate.”