Ted Garcia had never felt this much pressure. He needed to run for mayor to secure re-election, which meant endless video calls with people whose names and even jobs he couldn’t remember. Meanwhile, his town was in full lockdown thanks to the virus, he had to spend his days sprinting from one supermarket to another, making sure everyone wore their damned masks before shopping.

As if things weren’t bad enough, just a few days ago his sheriff, Joe Cross who had always been the quiet, dutiful type had dared to defy him. Joe refused to wear a mask and then, of all things, announced he would be running for mayor too.

Ted had drowned his irritation in wine last night, but now, early in the morning, he only wanted to sleep. No such luck. Someone pounded on his front door so hard it rattled the frame.

“Ted Garcia, you asshole! Open the door!” a woman’s voice yelled so loud maybe the whole block could hear.

For God’s sake, could he not have a single moment of peace? Muttering something indecent, he shuffled to the door and yanked it open. Squinting at the intruder, he was about to demand who you were and what the hell you wanted, when a phone screen was shoved in front of his face, almost bumping his nose.

On it, a Facebook post blazed: a photo of a positive pregnancy test, a massive caption screaming “Ted Garcia is the father!” and, beneath it, the damning hashtag: #MayorOfEddingtonIsAPredator.