was an ordinary morning by every visible measure — the kind of sharp, energetic broadcast Harris
Faulkner had delivered with a steady hand for nearly two decades. The cameras glided smoothly, the bright studio lights reflected off polished surfaces, and the rhythm of Fox & Friends moved with its usual confident pace: news, conversation, jump-cuts, laughter, headlines.
Harris looked immaculate, her posture poised, her voice calm. No one watching — not in the control room, not on the couch beside her, not anywhere across t
he millions of living rooms tuned in — had any reason to expect the shift that was about to unfold.
