The Wall
by N.J. Croft

Copyright © 2020 by N.J. Croft. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

“America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves.” Abraham Lincoln

Washington D.C.

Sometime in the near future…

“Are you ready, Mr. President?”

President Harry Coffell straightened his shoulders and slowed his breathing. Today was a big day. The culmination of years of planning. The day he gave the people what they wanted, something his father had taken away.

Their freedom.

“Sir?” Boyd prompted. Boyd was the head of the Secret Service and the closest thing Harry had to a friend. He knew how much this meant.

Harry turned and grinned, then slapped Boyd on the shoulder. “I’m ready. Let’s go change the world.”

As he stepped out of the White House, the crowd cheered, and he smiled and waved. A podium had been set up on the lawn, and behind it the White House loomed, forming the perfect backdrop.

As he shed his guards at the foot of the podium, the skin along his spine prickled. The sensation was familiar, expected—there were always people who wanted to bring a powerful man down—and he kept the smile fixed in place. His father had always told him that he shouldn’t let fear control his life, and he tried, but those first few steps out into the open were always hard. Only Boyd stayed close, taking up his usual position behind him.

This was a tradition started by his father: a speech to the people on the birthday of his father’s greatest achievement—The Loyalist Party.

He raised his hands and the crowd quieted.

“Welcome, America.”

They clapped and cheered, and his fear faded. This was what he’d been born to do.

“The day the American people voted my father into the office of President was the proudest day of my life. On that day, my father promised us all a world without fear, a world where there would be no more infighting between parties, no more stifling of the American dream with personal greed. Instead, there would be just one party. A party for the people!

“Twenty-four years ago, on this very day, he brought into being the means to make those promises come true—the Loyalist Party.”

The crowd cheered again, and he waited for them to quiet. “However, my father understood that anything worthwhile comes with a price. While some considered that price too high, all of you here today believed in the dream, and together we have worked to make that dream come true.” As he spoke, a piece of paper twirled on the breeze, flashing in front of his face. He flinched but forced himself to continue. “Because of your belief, today we live in a country without fear of terrorism, without fear of school shootings, of poverty, of pandemics with the potential to wipe out millions. No American has to live without those things that should be rights and not privileges: education, health care, affordable housing. Today, my father’s vision is a reality for all of us.”

The paper landed on the autocue, blocking his next words, and he hesitated. Then his eyes narrowed, his teeth clenching as he took in the cartoon printed on it. He snatched it up and balled it into his fist.

He needed to finish his speech. Afterward, his priority would be finding who was responsible.

And they would live to regret this embarrassment.

Just not for very long.

…

In the second row of the audience, Gideon Frome shifted on the hard chair as the president paused in his speech.

He glanced around; pieces of paper were blowing in the wind. One landed by his polished, standard-issue military shoes. He’d been out of the army for three months now, but the White House had sent a memo requesting he wear his dress uniform today.

He picked up the paper without thinking and glanced at the image. A smile tugged at his lips, but he kept his face impassive. It was a cartoon depicting two men. The first was a tall, imposing figure, standing proud in a dark suit, and beside him stood a much smaller, punier figure, naked except for a nappy and a pacifier in his mouth. It was cleverly done; the identities were clear, though in reality, Harry Junior was the image of his father. Beneath the image were the words: We voted for this, and we got this.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Secret Service agents running around collecting the bits of paper. Maybe he should help—he was, after all, Secret Service now. But the president was speaking again. Gideon let the words flow over him. He’d seen the speech earlier that morning and had experienced the first flicker of optimism since he’d come home to D.C. Perhaps there was hope for the Party.

His attention drifted from Harry to the tall man standing behind him, slightly off to the left, and he felt a stirring of the old hatred, low down in his gut.

Boyd Winters, head of the Secret Service and Gideon’s new boss—though he’d made it clear on his first day that Gideon was not his choice for second-in-command and that he’d be watching him. That was two months ago, and Gideon hadn’t seen or spoken to the man since.

Maybe Boyd didn’t trust him.

Maybe he thought Gideon might be harboring a little unresolved resentment.

It had been Boyd who had delivered the news of Gideon’s father’s suicide ten years ago. He’d come in while Gideon was being interrogated about his brother’s disappearance—giving a brief cessation of pain—to bring the good news personally. He’d hinted that perhaps Gideon might take the same way out and save them all a lot of bother. Gideon hadn’t been feeling particularly inclined to cooperate. He’d still had things to do.

All the same, Gideon was pretty sure that, if it had been left to Boyd, he would never have gotten out of that basement alive. He was guessing that only Harry’s intervention had saved him.

As though sensing his attention, Boyd turned his head slightly so that he was staring directly at Gideon. His lips tightened, but apart from that he showed no reaction. Gideon kept his own expression blank, let none of his hatred show.

This was a new start for him.

He wasn’t about to mess it up…just yet.

…

Aaron Frome watched the president’s speech from a table in the back of a bar off Fifth Avenue, in New York.

Over the years, Aaron had spent a lot of time studying President Harry Coffell Junior—he’d grown up in D.C., and their families had been close—and he could tell from his body language that the man was pissed. He grinned. Things had played out better than he could have imagined. A gust of wind at the right moment—it was scary how the little things, things beyond their control, made so much difference.

Part of him knew that releasing the cartoon had been a childish dig, and for that reason, he hadn’t run the plan through the correct channels. The committee would have shot it down. But Aaron had also known that Harry would hate it, and he hadn’t been able to resist.

Harry started talking again. “In order to make that dream come true, we all had to accept certain restrictions. Restrictions some claimed could never be justified. But we here today are proof that everything that was promised to the American people has come to pass.” He paused to allow the crowd to cheer, then continued. “And today I can announce that culmination of the dream. A return to the democratic process.”

The crowd went wild.

Aaron snorted. A return to democracy? He would believe it when it happened. He certainly wasn’t putting his plans aside until he saw some solid evidence.

The camera panned out across the audience, and he searched the faces.

Stella wasn’t there.

He picked up his glass and swallowed the bourbon in one go. Disappointment was a noose squeezing the breath from his lungs, stealing his air, leaving him light-headed. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed just a glimpse of her.

Then his gaze snagged on a figure sitting in the second row. Gideon. His perfect fucking brother. The hero of the goddamn Wall—single-handedly saving the country from invasion or some such crap. Ten years had changed him; he didn’t look so perfect anymore. Aaron had heard that he’d returned and was working for the administration again. How could he? After everything that had happened?

The camera was back on Harry now. While he continued with his speech, he gave the impression of working on autopilot, his mind on other things. Good. Aaron was glad he’d given him something to think about.

The bar door opened, and Aaron twisted in his seat and watched as a man entered. He paused, spotted Aaron, and headed over.

“A message has come through.”

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. Paper was back in fashion. With the internet and cell phones all monitored, paper was the one method of communication that wouldn’t be picked up on the chatter.

He glanced down, his gut tightening. Just two words.

I’m in.

Aaron screwed up the paper and shoved it in his pocket. Things were about to get real.

…

Stella Buchanan watched the speech from her office window. From here, she had an excellent view of the lawns in front of the White House. No doubt she would get a black mark against her name for not being present—Harry tended to take such things personally—but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to sit through it. She was finding it harder and harder to go through the motions these days. While she’d always believed that change should be made from within the system, lately she found herself chafing at the constraints of her life. Wanting to make things happen.

Of course, she’d known what Harry was going to announce: a return of the democratic process. And while she wanted to believe it, so far it was just words. And besides, she knew things about Harry that most people didn’t.

Maybe it was Gideon’s return that was unsettling her. She could see him, sitting upright, staring straight ahead, handsome in his captain’s uniform—looking every inch the hero. He was a civilian now, but no doubt Harry had insisted on the uniform. Gideon was popular with the people, that was why he’d been brought back.

He’d changed so much. His face was blank, so she had no clue what he was thinking. Back when they’d been engaged, he’d always been the open one, had never had a need for subterfuge. She was the one with all the secrets. She should never have involved him, but the pressure had been huge, and maybe his life would have gone to hell anyway.

Aaron had been a ticking bomb.

“America for Americans!”

At last the speech was over.

Additional Details

ISBN:

Release Date: September 28, 2025 Page Count: Content Warning: Read Content Warning No content warning available for this book. ×

Release Date: September 28, 2025

Page Count:

Content Warning: Read Content Warning No content warning available for this book. ×

Content Warning: Read Content Warning No content warning available for this book. ×

Release Date: September 28, 2025

Page Count:

Content Warning: Read Content Warning

Content Warning: Read Content Warning

Content Warning: Read Content Warning