Chapter 14 - The Senator’s Trap
The chaos in the grand ballroom upstairs rippled down into the sub-basement control room like a shockwave. Through the audio monitor connected to the main stage, I heard the sharp, frantic screech of feedback microphones as Senator Robert Vance’s campaign manager screamed for the security detail to cut the power feed.
"Kill the feed! Cut the master power!" a voice roared over the intercom.
I smiled calmly, my fingers flying across the terminal keyboard, locking out the manual override switches from the control room console. "Too late, Senator," I murmured to the empty room. "The dead-man’s switch is already broadcasting worldwide."
Suddenly, the heavy steel door of the AV control room rattled violently, followed by the heavy thud of a battering ram striking the reinforced deadbolt.
"Federal security! Open the door immediately!" a gruff voice shouted from the hallway.
They hadn't just sent hotel security; they had dispatched a specialized tactical unit assigned to the Senator’s private detail.
I didn't panic. I unclipped a smoke grenade from my tactical belt, pulled the pin, tossed it into the corner of the small control room, and kicked open the rear maintenance hatch leading directly into the building’s old steam-tunnel network.
Thick, choking white smoke billowed across the room as the heavy steel door finally gave way with a thunderous crash, splintering into pieces. Shouts echoed through the haze as tactical operatives swarmed the room, coughing and sweeping their weapons across empty air.
I was already crawling through the dark, twisting steam tunnels beneath the Willard Hotel, my military training guiding me through the labyrinthine plumbing pipes toward the exit alleyway two blocks away.
When I burst out of a rusted storm drain grate into an unlit alley behind a coffee shop on 14th Street, the autumn air hit my lungs like ice. I pulled my dark wool cap down low over my forehead, tucked my hands into my jacket pockets, and walked briskly toward the rendezvous point where Colonel Sterling was waiting with a nondescript sedan.
The car door swung open silently. I dove into the back seat, slamming the door shut.
"Drive," I commanded, breathing heavily.
Sterling hit the gas pedal, peeling out into the D.C. traffic without turning on his headlights until we merged into the heavy flow of commuter vehicles. He looked at me in the rearview mirror, his expression a mix of awe and sheer terror.
"You did it, Ethan," Sterling said, his voice shaking slightly. "The live feed broadcasted across every major news network before their censors could pull the plug. Senator Vance’s campaign is in absolute freefall. The Department of Justice can't protect him now—the public outrage is too massive."
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I pulled out my phone. The screen was flooded with alerts, notifications, and breaking news banners from every major global news outlet: *SENATOR ROBERT VANCE IMPLICATED IN ELDER-THEIST SYNDICATE SCANDAL; FEDERAL INVESTIGATION LAUNCHED.*
"It’s not over yet, Colonel," I said, staring out the window at the glittering monuments of the capital sliding past in the dark. "We still need to get my mother home."
