I sit back, thoroughly aware he’s about to dig into one of his long-winded speeches. I take the opportunity to dig into my soup.

“Our promising youth should stay here, where they were born and raised. The time and resources we’ve invested into these students’ futures—what benefit is there for us if the child leaves? All that potential and promise gone, given to some other state, when their skills should be utilized here, aiding in the prosperity of Texas. Not wasted on some drowning coastal city in Florida or in the Carolinas that should have been cut from our country like a useless limb.”

Like Texas severed Houston. Roth was the first governor to refuse aid to one of his own cities, setting a precedent. His Gulf Coast citizens either migrated inland or succumbed to a watery grave.

I half-listen to Father’s agreeable response and focus instead on Halton sitting across from me. He looks stuffy and cramped inside his high-collared blazer, the purple buttons on his shirt glossy and blinding. He barely touches his soup, and like the governor, he favors the wine.

“Of course, our Halton will follow in his grandfather’s footsteps as well,” says Mrs. Roth. “He’s ranked number two in his year.”

It has long been believed Halton earns his grades through fear. Not fear of him, of course. Fear of his last name.

“We are so proud,” she says, a smile plastered on her face. Governor Roth hardly glances up to acknowledge his grandson.

Halton downs the rest of his cabernet like a shot and lifts his glass for another. Gwen answers promptly with the bottle, eliciting a glare from Mrs. Roth that says, Cut him off.

Flawlessly, Gwen aborts midpour and begins clearing away the dishes for the main course.

With an air of familiarity, Mrs. Roth places a heavily jeweled hand on my right wrist, continuing her assault. “Have you chosen your date for the Anniversary Gala, Ava?”

I pause before answering, wondering if Father will let me speak. “I will be attending the celebration with my father.”

Mrs. Roth clasps her hands together, pleased. “Nonsense. Halton will be your partner.” Free from her grasp, I lightly brush my wrist and force another smile as I lock eyes with Halton.

“Agent Hayes, send in the photographer!” Mrs. Roth shouts, clapping with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

Before I understand what’s happening, a large woman with a tiny camera is yelling at me to stand and move closer to Halton.

I look to Father, who takes this unexpected intrusion in stride, keeping his manner light. “Now, Mrs. Roth, you know how much Ava despises having her photo taken.”

“I’ve never been very photogenic,” I force out as our go-to excuse.

“You Goodwins are so camera shy! But think what these two will look like together as an advertisement on the side of a skyrise! The prince of the Gala and his princess.”

“Scoot closer!” the photographer orders, winking at me like she’s giving me a gift.

Halton’s arm slips behind my back, his hand hovering above my waist. He seems to think better of it and moves his hand up to higher ground, landing on my shoulder.

My skin crawls. I can’t move, but out of the corner of my eye, I see him staring at my bracelet. Or is he staring at my wrist? With enormous effort, as if moving through quicksand, I ball my hands into fists behind my back, shielding my right wrist from view.

“Your own child as the face of the Gala, Dr. Goodwin? The public will be fawning over her!” the photographer adds with eager adoration as her camera’s shutter fires off with rapid click click clicks.

Governor Roth emits a low growl at this, a Rottweiler claiming his territory. The Gala is his. Dread fills the room, waiting for his bark, but Mrs. Roth clears the air by shooing the silly woman away. I break away from Halton and return stiffly to my seat with my artificial smile.

“And who will be your partner, Darren?” Mrs. Roth continues smoothly.

As Director of the Texas Family Planning Division, Father is expected to attend with a proper guest. Mrs. Roth parrots my thoughts aloud and turns to her husband for reinforcement.

“I’m certain you agree, dear?”

Governor Roth takes a hearty sip of his wine and reviews the lavish piece of beef tenderloin set down in front of him, unimpressed.

“I’m afraid my duties will occupy my attention during the commemoration, Mrs. Roth,” says Father, ending the debate.

“Your duties . . .”

The governor does not raise his voice but speaks quietly, forcing the smallest of noises to settle before he continues.

“What is the old phrase with which they’ve christened you, Darren?”

No one offers up the phrase, knowing he means to say it himself. He holds the silence for emphasis, and I shift in my seat, uneasy. The pleasantries are over.

“Ah, yes. The People’s Champion . . . the people.” His last words ring with displeasure. He throws a side-glance at Gwen, provoking my temper. The governor has always been envious of my father’s ability to win the praise and hearts of the public. The people may vote for Roth, but they will never love him.

Gwen approaches Roth’s left side, almost bowing as she delicately serves bourbon-glazed carrots from a silver dish. With shocking speed, Roth grabs Gwen’s arm and grips it so tightly she drops her spoon.

“I did not tell you I wanted those. Remove them,” he snaps. “Now.” He glowers at her like she’s a piece of trash polluting his air.

“Gwen, that will be all for tonight, thank you,” says Father, trying to take control of the situation. To save her.

“The girl stays,” Roth commands with a booming ferocity.

Gwen is a full-grown woman, not a girl. It’s this sort of power play that tests my father’s composure. But I mimic him and keep a neutral face. Inscrutable.

“All the work I do, Governor, I do for the betterment of Texas,” Father says, his voice uncharacteristically strained. He sets down his fork and faces the governor. “For your name and your legacy.”

“My legacy.” The governor taps his empty wine glass with a disparaging smile. With a discreet nod from Mrs. Roth, Gwen rushes to refill it, her eyes shiny with tears.

“Texas has always been the Lone Star this country has looked to for guidance. A symbol of preservation. And the rest of the world wants in.”

Mrs. Roth’s delicate nostrils flare at the possibility.

A bulging vein appears on the governor’s left temple. It seems to swell and expand with every new word he spits out.

“Have you read the latest DHS report?”

He doesn’t wait for Father’s answer.

“Four million. Four million of these filthy Gluts have already attempted to get through our Big Fence this year—more than half that number attacking our own Texas walls.”

Gluts. Surplus. Those considered the unwanted overflow in our overpopulated world.

“And these parasites are not the only filth trying to get in. My State Guard locates and destroys hundreds of tunnels a day dug by Mexican cartels trying to infest our country with their cocaine, meth, and latest dirty drugs. And from the sky, Moscow, Beijing, and Riyadh repeatedly threaten to target Dallas and Washington with their missiles if the US does not open our borders to trade.”

Nuclear warfare. A polite dinner topic for modern polite society. Father stares at the governor soberly, his untouched plate of food turning cold.