The Gulfstream's tires slammed onto the tarmac at Dulles International Airport. The heavy scent of jet fuel and humid D. C. air flooded the cabin as the door opened.

Carma stood at the top of the stairs.

Three black Lincoln Navigators were parked in a semi-circle at the bottom. The Kirk family butler stood waiting, flanked by four broad-shouldered fixers.

"Miss Kirk," the butler called out, his tone flat and commanding. "The Senator expects you in the center vehicle immediately."

Carma adjusted her oversized sunglasses. She didn't move a single muscle.

Corbin peeked out from behind her, saw the family guards, and shrank back into the cabin shadows.

The butler narrowed his eyes. He flicked his wrist. Two of the fixers started marching up the metal stairs.

A piercing siren shattered the noise of the runway.

Two massive, armored Cadillac Escalades with federal government plates tore through the security checkpoint. They didn't slow down. The lead Escalade whipped into a violent slide, cutting off the Lincolns and blocking the stairs completely.

The doors flew open. Eight men in tailored black suits and tactical earpieces poured out. They formed a solid wall of muscle between the Kirk guards and the stairs.

Lawson's Chief of Staff stepped out of the second vehicle. He adjusted his silk tie and looked up at Carma.

"Miss Kirk," he said, his voice echoing across the tarmac. "Senate Majority Leader Lawson has requested your presence at her residence."

The Kirk butler stepped forward, his face flushed with anger. "This is a private family matter. Step aside."

The Chief of Staff pulled a folded document from his jacket. He slapped it hard against the butler's chest. "Emergency protective order. Signed by a federal judge ten minutes ago."

The Secret Service-level agents simultaneously rested their hands on the grips of their holstered weapons. The metallic click of holsters unstrapping made the Kirk guards freeze and step back.

Carma walked down the stairs. Her heels clicked rhythmically against the metal. She didn't even glance at the furious butler.

She slid into the back of the armored Cadillac. The heavy door slammed shut, sealing her in absolute silence.

The convoy sped away, leaving the Kirk family vehicles eating their exhaust.

Carma pulled off her sunglasses. She sank into the plush leather. In her past life, she had been shoved into that Lincoln and driven straight into Johnie's torture chamber. This time, she had rewritten the script.

The Escalades pulled up to a massive iron gate in Georgetown. The gates swung open, revealing a fortress-like mansion heavily guarded by armed security.

Carma stepped out of the car. She forced her breathing to become shallow and rapid.

The heavy oak front doors opened. Senator Lawson stood in the foyer. She wore a sharp, navy-blue power suit. She radiated absolute, terrifying authority.

Lawson looked at Carma's pale, thin frame. A flicker of genuine pity crossed the older woman's hardened features.

Carma let a single tear spill over her eyelashes. She stumbled forward, her shoulders shaking, and buried her face into Lawson's shoulder, sobbing like a broken child.

Carma's fingers gripped the fabric of Lawson's blazer. She let out a ragged, choked sob that vibrated through her chest.

Lawson stiffened for a fraction of a second before her hand came up to awkwardly pat Carma's thin back.

Carma pulled away slightly. She tilted her head up, ensuring the chandelier light caught the deep, bruised circles under her eyes and her bloodless lips.

Lawson's jaw tightened. She snapped her fingers at her Chief of Staff. "Get the concierge doctor here. Now."

A maid guided Carma to a velvet sofa. Carma wrapped her hands around a cup of hot tea, making sure the porcelain rattled against the saucer.

Ten minutes later, a doctor with a leather medical bag hurried into the living room. He immediately checked Carma's pupils with a penlight and rolled up her sleeves to draw blood.

The doctor stopped. He stared at the faint, clustered needle marks on the inside of Carma's elbow.

He stood up and faced Lawson, his expression grim. "She is severely malnourished. And her system is flooded with heavy, unprescribed psychiatric sedatives. Someone has been keeping her chemically restrained."

Lawson's hand slammed down on the coffee table. Her teacup tipped over, spilling dark liquid across the expensive Persian rug.

Carma set her cup down. She reached into her clothes and pulled out the folded, blood-stained paper she had taken from Corbin.

"The woman who did it... she wrote this before she died," Carma whispered, her voice trembling perfectly.

Lawson snatched the paper. Her eyes darted across Marge's frantic handwriting, detailing Johnie's orders and the wire transfers. Her gaze locked onto the bloody thumbprint at the bottom.

The air in the room turned to ice.

Lawson stood up. She paced across the room, the heels of her shoes clicking sharply.

"They think they can drug a child under my protection," Lawson hissed, her voice dropping to a lethal register. "They think because her mother is gone, she is an easy target. They think I am blind."

Carma lowered her head. She let another tear hit her knuckles, hiding her face entirely.

Lawson stopped pacing. She looked at her Chief of Staff. "Call the Director of the DEA. Call the DOJ."

The Chief of Staff hesitated. "Senator, raiding the home of a sitting Senator... the political fallout will be massive."

Lawson's eyes burned with cold fury. "Then let Washington burn. I want a raid on Grafton Kirk's house. Now."

The Chief of Staff pulled out his phone and walked to the corner.

Lawson sat back down next to Carma. She grabbed Carma's cold hand and squeezed it hard. "I will tear that woman apart."

Carma leaned her head onto Lawson's shoulder. Hidden from view, the corners of Carma's mouth curled upward into a slow, vicious smile.

One hour later, a federal judge signed a no-knock warrant.

Five unmarked black SUVs tore out of the federal building garage. Heavily armed tactical agents checked their rifles and battering rams in the back seats.

At the Kirk estate, Johnie sat in the sunroom. She sipped her Earl Grey tea, annoyed that Carma had slipped away at the airport, but confident the girl was too stupid to cause real damage.

The screech of tires tearing up the gravel driveway shattered the silence.

Before Johnie could stand, the front doors of the estate were blown off their hinges. A sea of black tactical gear flooded into her home.

The glass doors of the sunroom were shoved open violently. A DEA tactical team leader marched in, holding a piece of paper.

Johnie dropped her bone china teacup. It shattered against the tile. She jumped to her feet, her chest heaving.

"How dare you!" Johnie shrieked, her voice echoing through the house. "This is the home of a United States Senator!"

The team leader shoved the federal warrant directly into her face. "Search warrant. Stand down."

He waved his hand. A dozen agents bypassed her, sprinting up the grand staircase toward the second-floor luxury suite.

Johnie's stomach dropped. The blood drained from her face. She scrambled in her heels, slipping on the spilled tea, and ran after them.

Helene Kirk stepped out of her ground-floor study. She slammed her cane against the floorboards, her face purple with rage as she watched federal agents tear through her pristine home.

In the second-floor suite, agents were ripping Johnie's custom gowns off the racks. Expensive designer bags were thrown onto the floor like garbage.

Johnie stood in the doorway, her hands shaking uncontrollably. "My husband will have all your badges for this!"

An agent tapped the back wall of the walk-in closet with the butt of his flashlight. It echoed with a hollow thud.

He grabbed a heavy steel crowbar.

Johnie lunged forward. "Stop!"

Two agents grabbed her arms and slammed her against the doorframe, pinning her in place.

The crowbar tore through the drywall and custom wood paneling with a sickening crunch. A hidden, temperature-controlled compartment was exposed.

The agent reached in and pulled out two black medical coolers. He popped the latches.

Rows of unlabeled vials and heavy psychiatric pills sat packed in foam.

The team leader picked up a vial. He read the chemical abbreviation. He looked at Johnie with pure disgust. "Enough Schedule II narcotics to put you in federal prison for twenty years."

Johnie's knees buckled. She collapsed against the agents holding her, her mind going completely blank.

The team leader pulled a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. He walked toward her.

Suddenly, Patience Pruitt, the nanny, shoved her way through the crowd of maids in the hallway. She threw herself onto her knees in front of the team leader.

"They are mine!" Patience sobbed hysterically, grabbing the agent's pants. "I bought them! I have severe anxiety! I hid them in the empty room so I wouldn't get fired!"

The team leader frowned, clearly not believing a nanny could afford black-market sedatives.

Patience rattled off three dark-web vendor names and a drop location in Southeast D. C.

Johnie snapped out of her shock. She instantly contorted her face into a mask of horrified betrayal. "Patience? You brought drugs into my home?"

The team leader glared at Johnie, knowing exactly what was happening. But with a confession on the spot, procedure tied his hands for the immediate arrest. He grabbed Patience by the arms and hauled her up. The handcuffs clicked shut around her wrists. Before stepping away, the team leader stepped into Johnie's personal space, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Don't leave town, Mrs. Kirk. We're going to tear apart every financial record this woman has. If even one cent traces back to you, I'll be back with a warrant for a sitting Senator's wife."

As the agents dragged Patience past Johnie, the nanny leaned in. "Take care of my daughter, ma'am," she whispered.

Johnie gave a microscopic nod.

The agents packed up the coolers and marched out of the house.

Helene walked up the stairs. She stopped in front of Johnie, raised her hand, and slapped Johnie across the face with all her strength.

The crack echoed down the hallway.

"Call Grafton," Helene spat. "Fix this."

Johnie touched her burning cheek. Her eyes filled with venomous hatred. She knew exactly who had sent the feds.