An old-fashioned diner off Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington D.C.
Leo sat in a corner booth, a half-eaten plate of fried eggs in front of him.
The seat across from him was empty.
He was waiting for someone.
9:45 AM.
A middle-aged man in a dark gray trench coat pushed the door open and walked in.
He looked to be in his fifties, with graying hair, heavy bags under his eyes, and a rolled-up copy of the Washington Post in his hand.
He walked straight to Leo's table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
"I'll have a black coffee, no sugar," he said to the approaching waiter, then placed the newspaper on the edge of the table.
He was the White House Chief of Staff, David Stern, one of the most powerful men in the country.
"Mayor Wallace." Stern picked up a napkin from the table and wiped his hands, his tone flat. "You've got a lot of nerve."
Leo put down his fork.
"Good morning, Mr. Stern."
