Chapter 7 - The ReckoningBy 7:00 a.m. the following morning, the sun rose over a freezing Peoria, casting long, pale shadows across the Federal Building downtown.
Senator Arthur Vance was standing behind a podium in the main press room on the first floor. He had called an emergency press conference to address "unfortunate rumors" surrounding his campaign and Bradley University.
Dozens of reporters, news cameras, and university board members filled the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press," Vance said, putting on his warm, statesman smile. "I stand before you today to clear the air regarding the tragic accident involving student Lily Mercer. False narratives have been spread online by bad actors trying to undermine our university's integrity..."
The heavy oak doors at the back of the press room slammed open.
The room went completely silent as I walked down the center aisle.
I was wearing my dark service dress jacket—my military medals, including the Silver Star and Purple Heart, pinned neatly to my chest. Beside me walked Mac, carrying a leather briefcase, and behind us were four armed Federal Marshals.
"What is the meaning of this?" Senator Vance demanded, his face hardening as camera flashes began erupting around me. "Security, remove this man!"
"Don't bother, Senator," an officer stepped forward. "Federal Marshals are executing an emergency arrest warrant."
The press pool gasped. Microphones thrust toward us.
"This is a political hit job!" Vance shouted, grabbing the microphone stand. "Daniel Mercer is a mentally unstable individual who broken into my son's fraternity home last night!"
I stopped right at the foot of the podium, looking up at him with icy calm.
"I didn't break in to steal, Arthur," I said, my voice echoing clearly off the marble walls. "I went in to collect evidence. Evidence of a violent assault committed by your son, Marcus."
I turned to Mac, who opened the leather briefcase and pulled out a large tablet connected to the room’s digital media projector.
With three taps of his finger, the massive screens behind Senator Vance flickered to life.
The entire press room gasped in horror.
Displayed on the 20-foot screens were crystal-clear audio files, group chat logs showing Marcus and his friends discussing the assault, the blood-stained cufflink photos with verified forensic match reports, and the Cayman Islands banking transfers bearing Senator Vance's digital signature.
"These are fakes! Manipulated AI media!" Vance yelled, his forehead breaking out in a cold sweat.
"And what about this, Senator?" I pointed to the side entrance of the auditorium.
The doors opened, and two agents wheeled in a chair.
Sitting in the chair, wrapped in a blanket, was Julian—accompanied by a high-ranking official from the United States Department of Justice.
"Julian Miller has given a sworn statement to the FBI," the federal prosecutor announced to the press. "Additionally, two private contractors arrested at Mercy General early this morning have signed full confessions implicating Senator Vance in attempted murder and obstruction of justice."
The press room erupted into chaos. Reporters leaped from their seats, screaming questions at the Senator.
"Senator Vance! Did you order the hit?" "Are the embezzlement charges true?" "Where is your son?"
Vance backed away from the podium, his face pale as chalk. He looked at me, his eyes wide with disbelief and defeat. The powerful, untouchable politician had been stripped bare in front of every news camera in the nation.
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"You ruined everything," Vance whispered, his voice trembling as Federal Marshals stepped onto the stage and forced his arms behind his back, clicking heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists.
"You did this to yourself," I said quietly, watching him get led away. "You forgot one simple rule: never touch a father's child."
