In the chaotic immediate aftermath, the Bellevue Hotel lobby swarmed with federal agents. Harrison and Rebecca Croft, their faces grim and defeated, were bundled into unmarked black SUVs, whisked away as reporters jostled for a quote, their cameras flashing relentlessly. Arthur stood on the marble steps outside, the freezing night air filling his lungs, his body shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline.
Eleanor rushed to his side, placing a protective arm around him. “Dad, are you alright?”
Arthur tried to answer, but his speech suddenly became slurred, garbled. He felt a strange numbness creeping into his left hand, his fingers going completely limp, unresponsive. His legs felt like lead.
Samuel O’Reilly, seeing the change, moved quickly to pull the van around. But before he could reach them, Arthur’s legs gave way. He collapsed onto the cold, frozen steps, his body hitting the hard marble with a dull thud. His eyes, wide and unfocused, stared blankly at the illuminated City Hall tower in the distance, a beacon of the civic institution he had fought so hard to defend.
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