The air in Le Grand Four was thick with the aroma of truffles and aged wine. The tables were separated by silk screens, ensuring almost absolute privacy. The low lighting from the chandeliers cast dramatic shadows over the diners' faces.

Vincent Halbert sat across from Congressman Vance. Vance, with his imposing physique and polished smile, was visibly enjoying the attention he had received since the bombing incident. He seemed stronger, more confident.

Vincent, by contrast, was tranquil. He observed the Congressman with the precision of an entomologist studying a rare specimen.

"This lobster is exquisite, Congressman," Vincent said, taking a small portion with his fork. "You always know how to choose the best places to discuss business matters... or, in our case, matters of shared interest."

Vance laughed, satisfied. "Thank you, Mr. Halbert. My campaign manager insists I maintain a 'courageous and elegant victim' profile while that idiot Thompson tries to use the bombing incident to score points. But tell me, what is the shared interest? I know your time is as expensive as my campaign."

"It goes beyond cost, Congressman. It's about stability," Vincent began, his tone subtle. "You have, shall we say, an annoying thorn stuck in your political side. A thorn that, if it speaks, could complicate not only your path to the governorship but the delicate matter of that 'terrorist attack' on your residence. It's a pity such a brilliant young man as Mr. Blake chose the path of chaos."

Vance set his wine glass down halfway, his smile hardening slightly. "Young Blake is a dangerous criminal. But please, be more specific, Mr. Halbert. I thought that 'problem' was resolved and contained in Lexington. Prisons are good at keeping things stable."

Vincent nodded, asking the waiter to pour more wine before continuing.

"Normally they are. But I have firsthand information. Mr. Blake is not a normal prisoner. He is an anomaly. And worse, an anomaly that your Prosecutor's office is not handling correctly, which could have disastrous consequences for your victim narrative."

Vincent leaned back and got straight to the point, abandoning the subtlety of the appetizer. "I mean to say that your 'dangerous terrorist' is operating freely inside that prison. I'll tell you, Congressman, that in the last two weeks, there have been organized eight attempts to eliminate Mr. Blake, all sponsored by me, with a total investment of 2.4 million dollars for internal contacts and personnel. And all eight have failed."

Vance remained completely still, his face shifting from irritation to disbelief. "Eight failures? That is incompetence! What the hell is Carter doing? And Warden Hayes?"

"Warden Hayes, I believe, is dealing with her own problems... problems that, according to my sources, have a lot to do with Mr. Blake. But the failures are due to three inmates: Jason, his former bodyguard; and two members of a gang linked to the Sinaloa Cartel, José and Antonio. They have formed a wall of protection so impenetrable that the attempts with poison, knives, and assaults have ended with my men injured, but Blake unscathed."

Vance slammed his hand on the table, though the sound was muffled by the thick tablecloth. "Damn it! That brat is going to cost me the election! If those bastards are protecting him, it means he's gaining power. And with Thompson stirring up trouble about my statement, I don't need the young genius talking!"

"And that is where my proposal comes in, Congressman," Vincent said, raising his glass. "You have the problem of the thorn in your side. I have the problem of an heir who refuses to sign over his share of the company. We have identical interests, but different methods of solution."

"And what do I receive in return?" Vance asked, his eyes narrowed, returning to cold negotiation mode.

"Stop wasting your resources on Prosecutor Carter. He can't deliver. You are a rising Congressman, soon to be Governor. I am the head of a corporate empire that needs regulatory stability. I will finance your entire campaign, Mr. Vance. Not just advertising; I mean the PAC donations, the high-profile events, the discreet 'incentives' to secure certain votes. We are talking about a minimum guaranteed investment of fifteen million dollars to smother Thompson and secure your victory."

Vance did not blink. "Fifteen million is an interesting sum. Thompson has his own money, but he doesn't have that kind of liquidity. And what do I receive, besides being relieved of the threat of Blake?"

"Two things," Vincent replied, holding his gaze. "First, you use your influence, once in office, to secure the necessary zoning permits and environmental licenses for Halbert Industries' expansion at the port. I need those endless bureaucratic processes bypassed. And second, and most importantly: you use your control over the prison and judicial system to neutralize that protection. I need those three inmates—Jason, José, and Antonio—transferred to three different prisons, separated by thousands of miles. Once Blake is alone, in the next round, he will sign what I want and disappear from the map, before Thompson can turn him into a political martyr."

Vance leaned back, weighing the deal. Fifteen million secured the governorship. Eliminating Blake and his protectors guaranteed silence about the bomb. And Halbert's corporate permits would grant him unprecedented economic control.

"That is a powerful alliance, Mr. Halbert," Vance said. "You get your company, and I get the state and peace of mind. I like it. But it's not just about transferring those three. I need you to guarantee that Blake has no more support outside. If Thompson knows Blake is in danger, he's going to go crazy."

"Thompson is an idealist, Congressman. Not an executioner. He is selling the idea of 'justice'. We will sell him the reality of an endlessly financed campaign. You will take care of the internal problems in the prison; I will take care of keeping Thompson distracted with a constant flow of campaign funds, ensuring his focus remains on the rallies, not the courts."

Vance picked up his glass and raised it in a toast. "Done, Mr. Halbert. I count on your word, and your money, by next week. And you count on that within a month, that little genius will sign everything you want and then meet with an 'accident' that Carter will classify as 'suicide'."

Vincent smiled, for the first time, with genuine satisfaction. They clinked glasses. "To stability, Congressman."

As Congressman Vance savored the wine and the imminent power, Vincent Halbert was already calculating the final cost of his nephew's life.

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