Ethan returned to the lavish reception hall and located Congressman Thompson, who was now engaged in a lively discussion with a group of businessmen.

Thompson spotted him instantly. "Mr. Blake! All is well, I trust? Your 'friend' was properly accommodated?"

"Perfectly, thank you," Ethan said, giving a polite but non-committal smile. "Everything is in order."

Ethan began to circulate the event again, his eyes sharp and analytical, trying to find any sign of Emily or Samantha. He scrutinized the staff, the security, and the few closed doors he passed. There were no obvious signs of anything amiss or any unauthorized personnel.

He rejoined Thompson. Though Ethan desperately wanted to ask about the hostages, he knew he couldn't reveal his true intentions. Thompson was an asset, but not a subordinate; their relationship was purely transactional, and exposing the kidnapping would risk Thompson either panicking or leveraging the information against him. Sowing discord was key.

"Congressman," Ethan said subtly. "I find myself curious. Will there be something particularly special about this event? Beyond the typical political fundraising, I mean."

"Ah, yes! Of course, Mr. Blake," Thompson said, inflating slightly with importance. "This is an auction. It should be starting any moment now. With your assets, you might even take home a rather unique souvenir tonight."

Ethan smiled, but a cold dread settled in his stomach. The word "souvenir" felt like a dagger. Was this it? He thought. Were they going to be sold as slaves? But his mind immediately shifted to solutions. He had the money. If this was about buying and selling, he could outbid any bastard in the room and prevent them from leaving with Emily and Samantha.

MARCUS THORNE POV

Marcus Thorne, the lead Federal Inspector handling the prison convoy assault case, sat across a reinforced steel table from a severely rattled Congressman Vance. Vance was handcuffed, his political composure completely destroyed by the circumstances.

"Confess, Vance," Marcus said, his voice level and weary. "We have all the information. We know you orchestrated it. You don't need to keep hiding it."

Vance glared at him, trying to cling to his former authority. "You have nothing, Thorne! And let me tell you, treating a Congressman of the glorious United States of America this way is a crime that will cost you very dearly!"

Marcus didn't react to the threat. He merely slid a legal document across the table. "We have everything, Congressman. Including the judge's signature on this warrant. You are a little rat, and we are about to flush you out."

Vance screamed, rage overpowering his fear. "When this is over, I will end your career, you miserable dog!"

Marcus held up a hand, stopping Vance's tirade. "Before you continue your rant, you should know that your close associate, Prosecutor Carter, and your investor, Vincent Halbert, are here as well, being interrogated in separate rooms. It's only a matter of time before they open their mouths in exchange for a little leniency. So, you can play tough all you want, but I have to wonder: would they really sell their lives, their careers, and their freedom just to save you?"

Vance immediately grew nervous. He knew Carter would sell him out without a second thought; he had made it clear during a recent dinner party that he wouldn't go down for anyone. I'm screwed.

But the mention of Vincent Halbert was the true shock. Vincent was his secret—a newly acquired investor he hadn't even introduced publicly yet. The fact that the federal inspectors already had Vincent detained meant they either had a major mole or Thompson knew far more about his operations than he let on.

Vance swallowed hard. "Can I make a phone call?" Vance asked, his voice suddenly small.

Marcus gave a curt nod. "Of course. You are not formally detained yet. Consider it a courtesy. Enjoy it."

Marcus handed Vance his own mobile phone and stepped out, where his partner, Mark, was waiting.

"What did Carter say?" Marcus asked Mark.

"Hehe, what hasn't he said?" Mark replied, grinning. "He gave us all the information: original documents, everything. We have the contractors who performed the attack, their names, addresses, everything. I've already dispatched several teams to bring them all in."

"Excellent," Marcus said. "I suppose we don't really need Vance to confess then."

"No. He's more than screwed already," Mark confirmed. "Only a miracle could save him now."

Inside the cell, Vance urgently dialed a number. After several tense moments of ringing, a voice answered.

"You took your time calling me," the voice said.

"I know, I know," Vance pleaded. "Just tell me the deal is still on. I'll do whatever you want."

"I'm sorry, Vance," the voice—cold and final—said. "The deal expired. You are truly screwed now, and no one can save you. Not even me. Prosecutor Wilson just held a press conference today showing the photos of all the implicated parties, hehe. You are no longer needed. Say whatever you want; you are out."

Without another word, Thompson hung up. Vance slammed his forehead repeatedly against the steel table. Tears of impotent fury and despair streamed down his face as he clenched his fists.

Marcus re-entered the room and found Vance broken.

"Looks like your call didn't go very well," Marcus said, his voice flat. He stepped forward and began reciting the formal declaration. "Congressman Vance, you are now under arrest for the attack on a federal prison convoy from Lexington, for trafficking in influence, for accepting bribes, and for using your power to harass civilian personnel. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a federal court. Extend your hands so I can handcuff you."

Vance did not move. He remained slumped forward, his face wet with tears and sweat.

"Get him up," Marcus ordered one of the uniformed officers standing by the door.

An officer stepped in and reached for Vance's shoulder. In a single, desperate, and lightning-fast movement, Vance lunged, grabbing the officer's sidearm from its holster. He brought the barrel to his own temple.

"The prison... no," Vance screamed, his voice raw with terror and finality.

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