WEDNESDAY
7:06 A.M. — AARON'S APARTMENT
At 7:06 Wednesday morning, Aaron Mercer discovered that the federal government had not ruined his life.
His washing machine had.
He stood barefoot in his laundry room, staring at approximately two inches of water spreading across the tile.
The machine made a noise that sounded expensive.
Then it stopped.
Aaron stared at it.
The machine stared back.
"Don't."
It gurgled.
Water seeped farther beneath his shoe.
Aaron closed his eyes.
For most of his adult life, problems had existed in categories.
Operational.
Financial.
Security.
Political.
Intelligence.
Legal.
And, occasionally, catastrophic.
A leaking washing machine belonged to none of them.
Which somehow made it worse.
His phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
REBECCA: Reminder. Tomorrow. 9:00 A.M. U.S. Attorney's Office.
Aaron glanced at the message.
Thursday.
Not today.
