Chapter 4 - The Senator's Trap
The television screen in the study automatically switched over to a live national news broadcast. The banner headline flashed across every major network: SENATOR ARTHUR VANCE ANNOUNCES SWEEPING CRIME REFORM PLATFORM.
On screen, Senator Vance stood at a podium surrounded by cheering supporters, smiling his polished, patrician smile, completely unaware that his family's dynasty was actively burning to the ground twenty miles away.
"Sir," the tactical lead said, his comm-link buzzing. "We have an inbound motorcade. Two black SUVs bearing federal congressional plates. It's Senator Vance. He must have been alerted by a private security ping before our signal jammers fully locked down the local grid."
"Let him in," I said calmly, pulling a chair up to the desk and resting my hands on my knees. "Do not shoot, do not stop him. Let him walk right into the lion's den."
Five minutes later, the heavy oak doors of the study flew open. Senator Arthur Vance strode into the room, his face flushed with righteous political fury, his tailored suit immaculate.
"What in God's name is the meaning of this?!" the Senator bellowed, pointing a finger at the federal agents. "I am a United States Senator! I demand to know what domestic militia or rogue agency thinks they can—"
His voice cut off instantly when he saw me sitting behind his nephew's desk.
The color drained entirely from Arthur Vance’s face. The righteous senator act crumbled, replaced by the frozen, wide-eyed terror of a man recognizing a ghost he thought he had successfully buried a decade and a half ago.
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"You..." Arthur whispered, his knees visibly shaking. "It... it can't be. You died in the South American purge."
"Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated, Arthur," I replied softly, standing up slowly and buttoning my jacket. "Just like your family's immunity from the law."
