The fluorescent lights of the Southern District of New York’s offices flickered behind Maurene Comey as she gathered her belongings, each item a small anchor to a life unraveling. Her mind churned with the years spent shielding her father, James Comey, from the fallout of Russiagate, Epstein, and Diddy—cases that had become her silent burden. She’d buried documents, deflected inquiries, and woven a narrative that protected his name, all while convincing herself it was for justice, for family. But the Orange Daddy’s purge, a relentless sweep through the government’s shadows, had exposed her. The sting of discovery burned in her chest as she zipped her bag, her hands trembling. How had she miscalculated so badly? She’d been the meticulous one, the lawyer who anticipated every angle, yet the new administration’s bloodhound auditors had sniffed out her every move.

Stepping into the hallway, the weight of her father’s legacy pressed harder, a ghost she couldn’t shake. She’d grown up idolizing him, the FBI director who stood for truth, but the secrets she’d kept—Russiagate’s murky deals, Epstein’s untouchable network, Diddy’s whispered favors—had twisted that ideal into something unrecognizable. She’d told herself it was loyalty, not complicity, but the Orange Daddy’s team didn’t care for her rationalizations. They’d branded her a conspirator, their press releases painting her as a villain in a drama she’d never scripted. Her throat tightened as she passed colleagues’ offices, their averted eyes a silent judgment. Had she been a fool to think she could protect him forever? The truth, once her ally, now felt like a noose, tightening with every headline that linked her name to his.

Outside, the Manhattan skyline loomed indifferent as Maurene descended the building’s steps, her future as uncertain as the gray clouds overhead. The purge had been surgical, stripping her of her title, her reputation, her purpose. She replayed the moments she could’ve said no, could’ve walked away from the files and the favors, but loyalty had always won. Now, with the Orange Daddy’s administration dismantling the old guard, she was collateral damage, her career a casualty of a war she hadn’t started. A bitter laugh escaped her lips—ironic that she, the daughter of a lawman, was now a pariah. As she hailed a cab, her mind flickered to what came next: the public scrutiny, the legal battles, the rebuilding of a life without the shield of her father’s name. She slid into the backseat, the door’s thud a final note in her exit, and whispered to herself, “Was it worth it?” The answer, like her future, remained just out of reach.