like distant stars, casting their light over a sea of suited men and
elegantly dressed women, each one more beautiful and powerful
than the next. The elite of Washington, D.C., mingled and posed,
their smiles as polished as the gold trim on the presidential seal.
The press glided through the crowd like sharks in the deep, ever
eager to catch a moment to preserve in the cold glare of their
cameras. The wine flowed freely, a red river of indulgence, and
in the center of it all stood President Alexander Vaughn, his
perfectly tailored suit hugging his frame in a way that could
only be described as supreme.
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