In the board room, twenty government officials sat with Lolita.
"The military is requesting more funding," Tyler said.
"What?" Lolita put her hands on top of her head. "Haven't I provided enough?"
"The lever-action rifles date back the Ossory war. The Technation army is equipped with semiautomatic rifles that have better accuracy, are faster to reload and are lighter to carry." Tyler explained.
"The military will have to make do with what they have." Lolita responded.
"Why didn't you budget appropriately for this war? We don't even have money to provide soldiers radios to communicate, on the battlefield!" Artemis shot back.
"Artemis!" Lolita snapped. "Don't question me when it comes to handling the country's finances!" Lolita sipped her wine.
"Lolita, I think we should shorten the conscription list to save on travel costs. Renee Clinton is putting a twenty percent tariff on gasoline imports to Intermarium." Tyler spoke.
"Why the fuck is she doing that?" Lolita slammed her high heeled shoe on the polished floor.
"She thinks you cheated her. Yesmin Trixie is selling nickel per a pound fifty cheaper cents than you," Tyler said.
Lolita's hand shook as she raked her fingers through her blonde hair, disheveling the perfect waves. "Is this all I get? Nothing but bad news?"
She paused, her gaze sweeping the room—faces etched with doubt, the weight of a crumbling nation pressing down. With a slow exhale, she set her glass aside. "I'll consider changing the mandatory conscription. But mark my words: if we fold now, the Sangria War won't just bleed our coffers dry—it'll drown us all in the crimson tide."