The door slammed behind them as Baxter scurried to catch up, clutching the brown leather notebook with archival-quality paper in his long slender fingers. He’d chosen Baxter’s flowery but exacting script to dictate the events of America’s fall—and eventual revival. Whether that was ten years from now, or fifty, or a hundred, it didn’t matter. The victors wrote history. The General intended to be one of them. This book—this version of history—would become his legacy. He was certain of it.
