The sharp, authoritative knock on the steel door broke the silence in the small interrogation chamber.

"Come in," Agent Wilkerson said, pushing off the ceiling and sitting upright in his chair.

Inspector General Marcus Thorne entered, his face grim and his eyes fixed on the empty chair where Director Brown had sat. He carried a fresh, unmarked file folder under his arm.

"What's the status, Wilkerson?" Thorne asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

"It's too neat, Thorne. It's absolutely orchestrated," Wilkerson said, picking up the recorder. "Brown's testimony is a near-perfect echo of Warden Hayes's. Both claim innocence, both point directly at Congressman Vance, and both claim to have sent critical evidence to Federal Prosecutor L. Wilson."

Wilkerson slammed his hand down softly on the table. "It's like they're reading from the same script, or rather, it's like we're being guided. It's a goddamn setup."

Thorne nodded, a dark expression settling over his face. Thorne and Wilkerson were known within federal enforcement circles as the Lone Wolves—agents so meticulous and legally rigid that they were virtually incorruptible. Their independence was why the Department of Justice had assigned them to this case; an assault on a federal transfer convoy with internal information required the best hunters, and these hunters smelled a trap.

"I know, Wilkerson," Thorne said. "I can't believe it's this linear. It's utterly rotten. Everything points to Vance, yet it feels entirely too convenient."

Wilkerson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "But let me tell you what I've gathered. I haven't spoken to Prosecutor L. Wilson yet, but I'm certain he's backing these two—Hayes and Brown. They've built a tight defense."

"Here's the complication," Wilkerson continued. "I was just contacted by Prosecutor Carter—Vance's contact. He fed me evidence implicating Hayes and Brown in something else entirely—misappropriation of funds, insider trading—even providing what he claimed were 'confidential' text messages. What I believe we are witnessing is a high-stakes political dispute for the governorship. This whole mess is between Vance and Thompson."

Wilkerson leaned forward, his voice a low, hard whisper. "My question to you, Thorne, is: who do we support?"

Thorne stared at him, the silence stretching tautly between them.

"So many years, and now you want to sell out, old dog?" Thorne said, his voice laced with genuine contempt.

"I didn't say sell out," Wilkerson snapped back. "I don't sell out. I don't accept kibble from any corrupted son-of-a-bitch bastard. But it's obvious that this whole convoy mess was orchestrated by Vance. It's not just the transfer, either."

Thorne frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The original case against the kid, Ethan Blake, for terrorism—that's more of the same," Wilkerson said. "I looked into it briefly: Vance fabricated evidence with Carter to frame him. We could easily arrest Vance on that alone, but there's one thing I don't understand. Why the hell would someone so meticulous use explosives that way?"

"What are you getting at?" Thorne asked.

"Think about it," Wilkerson said. "The officer who is now imprisoned—that young woman, I can't recall her name... mmm."

"Officer Sparks?" Thorne supplied.

"Yes! Sparks," Wilkerson confirmed. "Her sworn statement was that Vance kidnapped a woman—the woman's identity is sealed, and there are no records—and that they were ambushed by someone named Ethan Blake. She claims Ethan planted a bomb that destroyed the place where Vance was."

Wilkerson shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. Why use a bomb if you already ambushed him? The most probable scenario is that this Ethan attacked Vance, and Vance was forced to flee the scene and then detonated the bomb to eliminate his attacker and the evidence."

"And where is all this leading?" Thorne demanded.

"It leads to this: Vance is a psychopath, and I want nothing to do with the old man," Wilkerson said, rising from his chair. "I'm done with the political maneuvering. I'm going to find Wilson, take his evidence, and arrest Vance immediately on the original conspiracy charge."

"I understand where you're coming from," Thorne said, his voice calmer now. "But we can't leave loose ends. Vance didn't act alone. I have some interesting information right here."

Thorne tapped the file folder he was carrying. "What do you mean?" Wilkerson asked.

Thorne slid the folder across the table toward Wilkerson.

"Look at this folder," Thorne said.

"Future Technologies? What is this?" Wilkerson asked, raising the folder's cover.

"It's a stock trading company, doesn't matter, but look at these receipts," Thorne said, pointing to a ledger inside. "It appears they financed some rather strange movements near the prison facility just before the transfer."

"Where did you get this?" Wilkerson asked, his eyes narrowing.

"A police official gave it to me," Thorne said.

"Let me guess," Wilkerson said, a shrewd look in his eye. "They're operating under the command of Prosecutor L. Wilson, correct?"

"Exactly," Thorne said. "It seems L. Wilson and his allies found Congressman Vance's Achilles' heel, and they want to bury him once and for all."

Wilkerson leaned back, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly, replaced by professional resignation.

"I hate being guided like a three-year-old, you know," Wilkerson said.

"I know," Thorne replied. "But we have nothing against Thompson, nor against Wilson. What can we accuse them of? Being too good at finding leads?"

"Fine, fine," Wilkerson said, nodding sharply. "You go see Wilson. I'll go directly to the judge and request a warrant for the arrest of Carter, Vance, and the owner of this company. Do you have his name?"

"Yes, here you go," Thorne said, handing him a sealed envelope.

Wilkerson tore the envelope open and murmured, "Vincent Halbert... Okay, then let's execute these arrests and figure out who the hell attacked that convoy."

"I wouldn't bother searching for the attackers," Thorne said.

"Why?" Wilkerson asked.

"I was informed they were all killed in a shootout just an hour ago," Thorne said, his voice flat with weary cynicism. "The typical explanation: resistance to arrest, self-defense, necessary use of force... the usual cover-up."

Wilkerson just shook his head, a dark, bitter smile on his face. "It looks like Vance is truly screwed this time. Thompson buried him without mercy."

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