Three weeks had passed since the press conference on the porch. The crowd outside the safe house had thinned from a mob to a vigil. There were still cameras mounted on tripods across the street, lenses pointed at the front door like black eyes, but the shouting had stopped. The news cycle had moved on to the next scandal, the next celebrity downfall, the next political gaffe. We were no longer breaking news; we were background noise. That was exactly what I wanted.
I was back in the foundation office in Kensington. It felt strange to be back in the building after weeks of operating from secure locations. The walls were the same, the desks were the same, but the atmosphere had shifted. The glass partitions that used to feel like barriers now felt like declarations. We had removed the blind
