When I finished my edits to the final page of this manuscript one warm midsummer afternoon in 2017, I put down my pen and walked straight out the door. It was sunny and beautiful in our backyard, and as I stood with my face turned toward the sky, I said a prayer—nothing fancy, just a wish sent into the universe. I prayed that all the dangers I had painstakingly detailed in the book—the attacks on our democracy by a foreign power, the flood of fake news filling our screens, the staggering corruption of the Trump administration—would abate. Maybe my fears for our future would turn out to be
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