Hillary Clinton sat an ornately carved wooden desk, resting her face in her palms. The trials had been going on for what seemed like a lifetime. Had it been 6 months? A year? The days were getting hard to count, probably because the only sleep she got was when she collapsed, too exhausted to hold her head up. He was persistent, but she wasn’t prepared to give up. He would not break her.
A yellow light on the wall clicked on. Hillary cleared her throat and pressed down the red button on the intercom in front of her.
“Commence to the next stage,” she said.