Melinda had loved this place on sight but it would never feel like home to him. How could it? Since the night of the event—August 4, 2012: it would be forever scorched onto his memory—he could regard it as nothing but an elaborate trap. They had found him: it didn’t matter if it was in a castle or a craphole.Mitch’s study walls were plastered with photographs. Snaps of his time as a movie star seemed an important reminder at least from his wife’s point of view, and a gallery of famous directors and producers adorned the space. Mitch frowned in at his own face, searching for a clue. It was like looking at the image of a dead person.One picture caught his eye and held it. It had been at the start of the political campaign and they had been testing the waters with a string of appearances. This was a workshop at a secondary school: ten years ago now? Mitch had lectured the kids on Great American Opportunities, the Land Where Dreams Came True.He hadn’t thought of the boy in years.Now, in the background of the photograph, he absorbed the tall, dark-eyed vision, standing apart from the rest of the group.
