*SNAP-CLINK.*
Patricia shrieked, her voice tearing into a raw, feral, aristocratic howl that echoed off the vaulted cedar ceiling:
“YOU CANNOT ARREST US! MY BROTHER IS SENATOR JULIAN STERLING-VANCE! HE CHAIRS THE ARMED SERVICES COMMITTEE! HE CONFIRMED EVERY JUDGE IN THIS CIRCUIT! HE WILL HAVE YOU STRIPPED OF YOUR COMMISSION BEFORE SUNSET!”
“Senator Julian Vance was arrested inside Committee Room S-412 beneath the United States Capitol four hours ago, Patricia,” a deep, gravelly voice spoke from the back of the courtroom.
Walking down the center aisle…
Wearing an immaculate, dark-charcoal three-piece suit of English wool beneath a tailored Chesterfield overcoat, carrying an unsealed, four-hundred-page leather portfolio…
Was **Howard Jenkins**.
Seventy-four years old.
The senior equity partner of **Jenkins, Caldwell & Sterling**.
My father’s former personal attorney.
Beside him walked **United States Attorney Marcus Cooper**, Chief Federal Prosecutor for the District of Columbia.
Howard Jenkins did not look at Daniel.
