Page 4 of Split Decision

I open the door before he can do it again. I’m not in the mood, and everything feels like nails on a chalkboard.

He steps in with his usual energy, big shoulders, loud presence, filling space the way he always has. Behind him, Marin Caldwell follows at a measured pace. Dark blazer. Hair pulled back. No jewelry except a thin watch.

She doesn’t rush. She doesn’t linger. She just enters. There’s something deliberate about the way she moves, asif she’s aware of where every object sits and what it says about the people who live here. She shakes my hand once. Firm. Measured. Efficient.

“Andi,” Brandon says, softer than usual. “Are you okay?”

Andi nods once. “I will be.”

Marin offers her hand. “I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances,” she says, her voice composed and low, carefully balanced between sympathy and detachment. It’s composed in a fashion that feels intentional, as if nothing about her presentation is accidental.

“Thank you for coming so quickly. Have a seat so we can talk through your suggestions.” Andi motions to the couch.

Marin quickly takes in the living room. The open laptop on the coffee table, news alerts still flashing across the screen, and two coffee mugs untouched since the headlines broke.

She’s forming her assessment of us. This is not the demeanor of someone who’s merely curious. She takes a seat on the couch, but her posture is controlled. Her movements are measured, right down to her facial expressions. Her demeanor is absolute. Her bearing leaves no doubt that she’s equally exact in all aspects of her life. Her job is her identity.

“I looked at the Commission notice,” Marin says, setting her bag down neatly next to her on the floor. “And the Youth Outreach inquiry.”

I watch Andi’s posture tighten slightly at the word “inquiry.” It conjures flashbacks to her bogus confinement and the psychological damage that forced it. Now she associates it with being stripped of the ability to help the most vulnerable people.

Marin notices the subtle change in Andi’s stance. It seems she notices everything.

“It’s procedural,” she continues. “But procedural doesn’t mean harmless.”

That’s the first honest thing anyone’s said all morning.

Brandon drops into a chair. “Tell them what you told me.”

Marin folds her hands loosely in front of her. “This isn’t about what’s true or false. It’s about what sticks first. You’re not fighting facts. You’re fighting narrative formation.”

I don’t like that phrase.

“And narrative forms fastest in silence,” she adds. “Or in panic.”

Andi crosses her arms, not in a defensive posture, but in a contained, controlled way.

“So, what’s the move?” I ask.

Marin doesn’t hesitate. “You narrow exposure.”

There’s that mindset being thrust upon us again. Narrow the focus. She’s not advising us to eliminate the threat. She’s not saying we should try to defend ourselves against the lies. She’s simply saying we have to make ourselves smaller to be less of a target. What does that mean we have to give up?

She continues calmly. “No joint appearances for a few weeks. No unscripted interviews. No reactive social posts. Let the review stabilize before you give anyone additional footage to manipulate.”

The word “manipulate” hangs in the air.

“And I’m the footage,” Andi says quietly.

Marin turns toward her fully for the first time.

“You are emotionally compelling,” she says. “That makes you powerful. It also makes you easy to frame.”

She delivered it the way she delivered everything else—measured, unvarnished, but not as an insult. It’s an expert assessment from someone who has managed political crises with cool, steady precision. Even if it’s an honest assessment and a valid tactic, Andi’s physical response to her words feels like a gut punch to me. I can’t protect her from this. I can’t protect her from what I can’t see coming.

I feel my chest tighten with dread. If Andi is seen as powerful by those who want to destroy our lives and emotionally compelling to everyone else, this fight won’t stop until she’s no longer a threat.

“She’s not unstable,” I blurt out before I mean to.