Six Pairs of Thick Gray Socks Saved My White House on Elm Street

the low oak shelves toward the back computer terminals where the light was dim and the yellow screens flickered against the dark walls.

Greg sat in the last chair, his broad shoulders hunched over a large monitor. His finger hovered over the black mouse, and he was staring intently at a grid of streets.

I stood two feet behind him, my boots silent on continue reading …