Ted Cruz fingered his Bible nervously. He was only going to get one shot at this, and if he missed—well, he wouldn’t allow himself to think about that. Somewhere, floors above him, he heard the elevator doors shudder open. Somebody was bringing back the groceries, coming home to the dog, living the kind of normal life that Ted Cruz dimly remembered but no longer understood. He said a quick prayer for whatever poor schmuck lived on floor six. There wasn’t time for anything more, because the elevator had returned to the lobby, its doors opening, ready to take him to the penthouse and whatever awaited him there. Today was Friday, and Ted Cruz was going all the way to the top. Would a lifetime of hard luck and dark secrets come with him?