Ethan Vale watched his four-year-old son being dragged into the center of the mansion party.

Twenty-four hours later.

The annual Metropolitan Charity Gala was held at the Grand Royal Hotel. It was the premier event for the nation’s ruling class. Evelyn Vale stood on the raised balcony, surrounded by politicians, media moguls, and high-ranking law enforcement officials. She wore a stunning black silk gown, holding a glass of champagne, playing the part of the grieving, worried stepmother to perfection.

“It is so tragic,” Evelyn was saying to a group of reporters, wiping an invisible tear from her eye. “My stepson Ethan has suffered a complete psychotic break. He has absconded with young Leo. We are praying for the boy’s safe return before Ethan does something unforgivable.”

“You won’t have to pray much longer, Evelyn,” a clear, powerful voice echoed over the balcony speakers.

The music stopped. The grand doors of the ballroom slammed open.

Ethan Vale walked down the grand staircase. He wore a flawless black tuxedo, looking impeccably handsome, calm, and utterly unscathed. At his side, holding his hand with complete trust, was little Leo, dressed in a matching mini-tuxedo.

Behind them stepped in fifty armed agents of the Federal Criminal Investigation Division, alongside Arthur Vance.

The crowd gasped, parting like the Red Sea.

Evelyn’s face drained of all color. “Ethan... how dare you bring that child here after your criminal acts!”

“Save it, Evelyn,” Ethan said, his voice echoing through the entire hall via the synchronized house speakers. “The game is over.”

Arthur Vance stepped forward, opening a leather briefcase and tapping a command on an encrypted tablet. Instantly, the giant projector screens surrounding the ballroom—which usually displayed charity sponsor logos—flickered and changed.

Displayed on the giant screens were financial records, audio recordings, and wiretransfer logs linking Evelyn Vale directly to illegal offshore weapons syndicates, as well as the wire transfers paying fifty million dollars to the mercenary squad that had attacked the Vale penthouse.

Audio filled the room—Evelyn’s distinct, icy voice playing through the speakers:

“I don’t care how you do it. Eliminate Ethan. Bring me the child or bring me his medallion. Once the boy is dead, the trust dissolves and the empire is mine.”

Horrified gasps erupted from the elite guests. Senators backed away from Evelyn as if she carried a plague. The reporters immediately turned their cameras away from Ethan and slammed their flashbulbs directly into Evelyn’s frozen, terrified face.

“That’s... that’s a deepfake! It’s forged!” Evelyn screamed, stumbling backward against the balcony railing.

“The Federal Bureau doesn’t act on deepfakes, Mrs. Vale,” the Lead Federal Agent said, stepping up the balcony stairs with handcuffs drawn. “Evelyn Vale, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, high treason, financial fraud, and child endangerment.”

Beatrice, who was standing nearby, immediately tried to slip away into the crowd, but two federal agents stepped into her path, blocking her exit. “Beatrice Vale, you are also named as a co-conspirator.”

Beatrice burst into tears, dropping to her knees. “It was Evelyn! She made me do it! She promised me ten percent of the trust!”

Evelyn looked at Ethan, her eyes full of venomous rage as the handcuffs clicked around her wrists. “You ruined everything, Ethan! You sacrificed the family name for a useless child!”