I’m a dictator, and things are pretty good. I’ve just rigged re-election for my second term, got the press more or less under my thumb, and I have a load of fancy cars, boats, and houses scattered around the world to escape to if things go south. There’s just one problem—I can’t get this goddam money-laundering investigator off my back.
Right now, he’s homing in on the cash I picked up from fabricating a state emergency and handing the security contract to a mate. (Don’t raise your eyebrows like that, reader—I’m hardly the first leader to use a national calamity for personal ends.)