Number One Observatory Circle
Washington DC – 2AM
Vice President Tom Johnson dropped a couple more ice cubes into his scotch glass. His tie was loosened, his sleeves were rolled up. His family was asleep, as he sat in his study amidst the still quiet of the night. With a high approval rating and strong foreign policy initiatives he was showing himself to be a potential commander-in-chief in the upcoming elections. Along the road to his political stardom, he had been called by some, Brutus, for his infamous backstabbing tactics to further his own political gain.
No matter what political enemies he had accrued throughout his years, a litany of journalists and judges remained in his back-pocket. Despite the opinion of his political party, the public found him charming and trustworthy. He often vacillated from issue to issue, following the public's pulse, rather than his own morality or ideology. He was a champion for whatever cause was at the forefront of public discourse. His methods, although despised by many, had lifted him through the ranks and all the way to Number One Observatory Circle.
Tonight the past had caught up to him. After lying awake in bed for three hours he attempted to start a chemically induced coma through his bottle of 25 year old scotch. After two glasses he would be out, but he was on glass four and he couldn't shake what he had heard in the Situation Room this morning.
His blurry vision rose to a painting behind his desk. He was not focused on the brushstrokes or the image on the canvas, rather his eyes beamed through it, wondering of the contents that lay behind it. He had been consulting the painting for the last two hours, unsure of whether he wanted to unearth the past.
Could it be connected?
The Vice President threw back the last two gulps of scotch and proceeded to the painting behind his desk. With a quick motion it swung off the wall hinged like a door. His hand turned the dial of his safe until it clicked into place. He opened the steel door and dug under years of confidential files, until he found one of his earliest file, one purposefully buried. The manila envelope had the red stamp "Confidential" on it. He opened the file and read the words at the top.
The Ivory Tower Initiative
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