Please look under my coat before she sees you!
Armed with Kowalski’s bombshell discovery of voter fraud, Rachel and I knew we couldn’t afford to wait. This wasn’t just campaign finance fraud; it was an attack on the very foundation of the election. We decided the federal authorities were our only option, bypassing the compromised state system.
“San Antonio,” Rachel said, tapping on a map. “Federal courthouse. It’s far enough from Austin to hopefully be untainted, but close enough to matter.”
Kowalski had painstakingly compiled the decrypted data, packaging it onto an encrypted flash drive. He looked nervous, his hands shaking slightly as he handed it to me. “This could blow open everything, Lucas. Be careful.”
I promised him I would. The plan was simple: walk into the federal prosecutor’s office, lay out the evidence, and let them take it from there.
I drove Rachel’s sedan, the flash drive burning a hole in my pocket. The San Antonio federal courthouse was a imposing stone building, a symbol of justice and authority. For the first time in weeks, a glimmer of hope sparked within me.
I parked and started walking toward the entrance, the flash drive clutched in my hand. The morning air was crisp, and a few people bustled past me, lawyers mostly, briefcases in hand.
As I neared the heavy oak doors, two men in dark suits, their faces unreadable, suddenly stepped in front of me. Federal marshals. Their jackets were unmistakable.
“Mr. Lucas Hollister?” one of them asked, his voice low but firm.
My heart sank. How had they known?
“Yes,” I managed, my hand tightening around the drive.
The second marshal held out a document, its seal prominently displayed. “We have a sealed state security gag order, Mr. Hollister. Obtained under critical infrastructure statutes.”
My stomach dropped. Critical infrastructure? They were escalating.
“Any information regarding Apex Titan Security’s network,” the first marshal continued, his eyes unwavering, “including but not limited to their operational protocols, hardware specifications, and data transmission methods, has been reclassified as state secrets.”
“Disclosing any details to news outlets, or any unauthorized third parties,” the second marshal added, “is now a state felony. Punishable by a mandatory ten-year prison sentence.”
He gestured to the courthouse. “That includes federal prosecutors. Consider this your final warning, Mr. Hollister.”
It wasn’t a request. It was an order, delivered with chilling authority. They weren’t arresting me, not yet. They were blocking me, sealing my lips before I could even speak.
I stood there, surrounded by the busy sounds of the city, the heavy weight of the flash drive in my hand suddenly feeling like a ticking time bomb. The courthouse doors, once a symbol of hope, now felt like an impenetrable fortress.
Evelyn hadn’t just used the law; she had rewritten it, elevating her corrupt network to the level of state security, making me a felon if I dared to expose the truth. I was utterly and completely gagged.
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