"Good evening," Prosecutor Wilson began, his voice calm and authoritative. "Less than four hours ago, an act of unprovoked violence was perpetrated against federal personnel operating under the jurisdiction of the Department of Corrections. While the purpose of the security movement remains under investigation, the severity of the attack is crystal clear."

Wilson paused, surveying the assembled media. "Forensic analysis at the scene confirms the use of multiple high-caliber weapons—including military-grade 7.62mm and .50 caliber rounds—suggesting a planned operation far beyond the capabilities of ordinary criminals."

"Prosecutor Wilson, can you confirm if this was an attempted hostage situation?" a reporter shouted.

"We are pursuing all leads," Wilson stated firmly. "What I can confirm is the magnitude of the conspiracy. Evidence strongly indicates that the initial attack was facilitated by the very men entrusted with protecting the transport."

"What happened to the escort personnel who fled the scene, Prosecutor?" another voice demanded.

Wilson waited a beat, letting the question hang in the air. "As of one hour ago, working in close cooperation with state and federal agencies, we successfully located and detained all the individuals who abandoned their post during the ambush," Wilson revealed, a sharp edge entering his tone. "These former federal personnel are currently en route back to Lexington, where they will undergo immediate and thorough interrogation."

Vance, Vincent, and Prosecutor Carter watched the screen, horrified. The capture of the escorts—their paid co-conspirators—was the worst possible outcome.

"Their complicity is undeniable," Wilson continued, projecting absolute confidence. "We have compelling reason to believe these men can shed light on the scope of this conspiracy and the high-level individuals who ordered it. Let me be perfectly clear: this office will not rest until every single person responsible—whether they fired a weapon or merely signed an order—is brought to justice."

"Is there any indication that this assault is linked to the political opposition, Prosecutor?" a reporter asked, trying to inject political motive.

Wilson dismissed the question instantly. "I will not engage in speculation. This is a criminal investigation, not a political one. We are only concerned with facts, and the facts tell us that loyal federal officers were betrayed and nearly murdered. We are dedicated to ensuring that no culpable individual escapes clean from this."

Wilson concluded his statement and walked away from the microphones, his words hanging like a death sentence in the opulent dining room.

The entire private dining room was now in utter chaos. The sight of Prosecutor Wilson, a political enemy, leading the investigation sent their fear into overdrive.

Vance's legs gave out, and he collapsed back into his expensive chair, staring blankly at the screen. The reality of the catastrophic failure hit him—the captured escorts would break and point directly to him.

"Contact Brown!" Vance screamed immediately, jumping back to his feet, eyes wild. "He has to release them! If they talk, we're finished! We're lucky we replaced Hayes in time! Now call the Director! Now!"

"Wilson! It's L. Wilson!" Prosecutor Carter shrieked, clutching his head, pacing frantically. "That bastard works for Thompson! Vance, that's your direct opponent! This isn't coincidence, damn it! They knew the minute the attack failed!"

"There's a mole! There has to be a mole!" Vincent Halbert stated, his face pale with cold fury. "Who is their contact? Who betrayed us? We controlled every piece of this plan!"

"It doesn't matter who!" Carter screamed, slamming his fist onto the mahogany table. "Wilson doesn't need evidence! He'll invent it! He wants us destroyed, and with the authority he just claimed on national television, he'll manufacture a case that will sink us all!"

They were all frantically dialing, calling every number associated with Director Brown or the assassins, but the phones remained stubbornly dead. The panic was absolute.

Then, miraculously, a secretary's voice cut through the noise. "Congressman! Sir! Director Brown! He answered!"

Vance snatched the phone violently from the secretary. "Brown! What the hell is wrong with you?! Why weren't you answering?! We are up to our necks in this mess, and you—"

Vance raged for a full minute, screaming about dereliction of duty and incompetence. Then, he abruptly forced himself to calm down, remembering the favor he desperately needed. His voice shifted sickeningly, becoming soothingly placating.

"Brown, Brown, calm down," Vance said, the change in tone jarring. "It's not grave. You can redeem yourself right now. You just need to listen to me."

Vance lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, although everyone at the table strained to hear. "Wilson just announced he captured the escorts—the ones who fled the transport. They are being brought back to Lexington for interrogation. Do you understand what that means? They will talk, and they will give up the entire chain."

"You have to release them, Brown," Vance ordered, the placating tone vanishing, replaced by cold demand. "You must release all individuals involved in the transfer attack before that new prosecutor steps foot inside the prison. Release them, claim they were mistakenly detained, claim anything! You have to free them, no matter what!"

Vance gripped the phone so hard his knuckles turned white. "And remember this, Director Brown: you are knee-deep in this sewage with us. If we fall, you go down in the muck right alongside us. Do your job, or we all face a firing squad."

Director Brown, on the other end of the line, slowly turned his head.

Standing immediately beside him, the cold barrel of Ethan's rifle was pressed firmly against his temple. Ethan smiled, but the expression was utterly devoid of warmth. In front of Brown, Director Hayes stood with a firm, unforgiving expression, flanked by several federal guards, all armed and pointed inward. Every syllable Brown spoke was being monitored. Saying what Vance demanded would be enough for Ethan to blow his brains out.

Brown took a deep, shuddering breath, the decision forced upon him by the threat of immediate death.

"I'm sorry, Congressman," Brown replied, his voice raspy. "What you are asking me to do is illegal, and I cannot comply. I will cooperate with the authorities to clarify the facts."

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