“Federal agents! Stay down!” a voice boomed through a megaphone from the back of the room.

The main double doors of the ballroom shuddered.

A loud hiss of pneumatic pressure echoed as the lock mechanisms were bypassed from the outside.

Armed men in tactical vests burst through the entrance, their flashlights cutting beams through the dust and darkness.

“Drop the device!” an agent shouted, aiming a weapon at Julian.

Julian raised his hands slowly, letting the black remote drop to the carpet.

“This is a private corporate event,” Julian said, his voice shaking but still trying to project authority. “You have no jurisdiction here.”

“We have a federal warrant for your arrest, Julian Whitmore,” the lead agent replied.

“My name is Alexander Whitmore,” Julian lied, his eyes darting toward the emergency exit.

“Save it for the judge,” the agent said.

Two agents stepped forward, grabbing Julian’s arms and forcing them behind his back.

The metal handcuffs clicked loudly in the sudden silence of the room.

Senator Sterling stood a few feet away, his face gray and sweating.

He tried to slip behind a large floral arrangement near the stage.