Chapter 2: The Projection of Guilt
"You made a mistake," the waitress said, her voice steady and quiet.
"I made a choice," Alex laughed, turning to his companion. "Get this mess cleaned up, will you?"
Before the waitress could respond, the giant digital projector—intended to showcase the gala’s charity goals—flickered to life. The guests turned, expecting a slideshow of starving children or new hospital wings.
Instead, the screen filled with a high-resolution photograph of Alex Thorne.
Below it, in bold, stark white text against a black background, was the title: CONFIDENTIAL FEDERAL INVESTIGATION: CASE FILE #9928-ALPHA.
The room erupted in a chaotic murmur. Alex’s face drained of color as the screen began to cycle through images: bank statements from offshore accounts, wire transfers to shell corporations, and photographs of illegal dump sites in protected wetlands.
"What is this?" Alex barked, stumbling toward the wall as if he could physically stop the projections. "Who is responsible for this? My lawyers will have you in chains by morning!"
He turned back to the room, looking for allies. But the donors, the politicians, and the CEOs he had dined with only minutes ago were now stepping away, forming a wide, empty circle around him. They weren't looking at him with respect anymore. They were looking at him as if he were a contagion.
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The waitress—who was now standing with a posture that screamed authority—didn't move. She simply tapped her earpiece.
"The warrant is served," she said into the air.
