Marcus Sheele stepped up to the acrylic podium, the polished presidential seal reflecting the sharp midday glare. He placed his leather document folio flat against the slanted stand, unhurried, letting the cascading applause from the grandstand taper down into a focused silence.
Below the main stage, in the front row of the VIP enclosure, Troy Husks leaned back slightly in his padded seat, folding his arms across his chest. Duke Timber stared straight ahead, his expression a tight mask of cold indifference.
Marcus adjusted the neck of the Gooseneck microphone, his dark eyes scanning the sea of press lenses, state dignitaries, and corporate delegations before locking onto the main national broadcast camera positioned on the central riser.
