Leo looked at Murphy.
"John, tonight, your focus is solely on Warren."
"When the moderator asks you about Monroe, don't attack, don't debate."
"Be magnanimous."
Murphy took a deep breath. He understood.
It was more vicious than an attack.
It was contempt.
"Are you ready?" the director shouted from the doorway. "One-minute countdown."
Murphy straightened his back and adjusted the hem of his suit jacket.
"Let's go," Murphy said.
Inside the studio, the lights were bright.
Aston Monroe was already standing behind his podium.
He looked flawless. His hair was perfectly styled, his smile was impeccable, and he exuded the kind of confidence unique to the elite.
Seeing Murphy walk up, he gave a polite nod, but his eyes held a hint of arrogance.
In his view, this was just a formality.
This was Philadelphia, and the audience was filled with his supporters.
The debate began.
For the first twenty minutes, Monroe was on the offensive.
