Seifer’s Departure

Bang!

Lake entered the small conference room with two Secret Service agents.

In view.

The Chief of the Secret Service lay on the floor, a handgun beside him.

Forbes, the President’s personal bodyguard, stood there holding a gun, looking at Lake and the others entering. "He was resisting just now."

Lake’s gaze fell upon the Chief of the Secret Service on the floor, his eyes wide open in death.

Immediately.

Lake looked up at the personal bodyguard, Forbes, and after a moment of contemplation, he smiled and walked out.

I don’t care who’s who.

As always.

Lake always dealt with people, not issues. The Chief of the Secret Service had targeted him, but this personal bodyguard, Forbes, had not. Therefore, Lake couldn’t be bothered to inquire if there was a story behind it.

Both of his missions were considered complete.

As for the rest?

Naturally, others would come to help clean up.

The gunfire on the White House lawn gradually ceased, as if an attempted invasion had ended in a farce.

"Don’t move!"

"Don’t move!"

"Hahaha."

Surrounded by several National Guard soldiers, Kang laughed heartily at his predicament, completely disregarding the gash in his abdomen. Under the muzzles of the soldiers’ guns, he directly raised his handgun.

The next second.

Rat-tat-tat!

Bang, bang, bang!

Kang’s body convulsed violently, blood mist spraying out with the bullets entering his body.

The gunfire stopped.

Kang uttered an unintelligible sound from his throat, his head drooping with blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

Thus.

All nearly fifty terrorists on the lawn were wiped out. Despite the fierce assault from these fifty-plus individuals for nearly five minutes, they were stopped dead on the White House lawn. The closest terrorist was still a hundred meters away from the White House gates.

Reporters outside were frantically taking pictures.

A designated survivor, en route to a safe location, received a message from the Pentagon: the designated survivor order had been re-frozen.

While the designated survivor breathed a heavy sigh of relief, there was also a hint of regret.

An hour later.

The White House’s security alert was lifted. The President, Secretary Kelly, the Secretary of State, and the Vice President emerged from the bunker and returned to the Oval Office.

"Bring me the latest information."

"Yes, sir."

The Secretary of State left in a hurry. With such a major incident, the White House needed someone to inform the public immediately that it had not fallen.

In the small conference room, the Chief of the Secret Service’s body still lay on the floor.

The President covered his forehead and said, "My God," in disbelief. "It was really him."

It was simply unbelievable.

The Chief of the Secret Service, who had constant access to the President, had betrayed them.

This…

It was too bizarre.

Why?

They were investigating. During the confrontation, the Secret Service had discovered that the password to their heavy weapons cache had been deliberately altered, and the person who modified it was the now-deceased Chief of the Secret Service.

Secretary Kelly suggested to the President that the Department of Homeland Security’s internal oversight group intervene and conduct a full investigation of the Secret Service.

The President agreed.

Soon.

Personnel from the Pentagon rushed to the White House.

Lake, meanwhile, took his leave.

His mission was complete, and he had no say in the matters these important figures were discussing. Was he supposed to stay and be a background prop?

Sorry.

Lake felt he might as well go get a cup of coffee outside.

Someone had invited him.

A roadside coffee shop three blocks from Pennsylvania Avenue.

As Lake walked over, the National Guard, federal agents, and the Washington Police Department had already been fully deployed onto the streets of Washington, beginning to gradually unblock roads.

However, the city-wide alert in Washington had not yet been lifted.

"Hello!"

Lake hugged the female reporter Rachel, who had invited him for coffee, sat down, and smiled, "With the time it takes to have coffee, The Washington Daily will snatch up the headline."

Rachel replied, "A headline the public already knows isn’t a headline."

Lake smiled and nodded, handing the menu to the waiter and ordering a bourbon.

The waiter visibly paused, then turned and left.

Soon.

A bottle of bourbon was brought over, along with a glass containing three ice cubes.

"Drinking this early?"

"Early?"

Lake looked up at the sun, which was nearing its zenith, "It’s almost noon."

"Don’t you have work this afternoon?"

"I’m off."

"My little assistant and I witnessed the whole thing. It was so impressive."

"Oh really?"

Lake chuckled, crossed his right leg over his left, and took a sip of bourbon.

Rachel took out her phone, pulled up a photo, and handed it to Lake.

As Lake reached out to take it, his gaze fell on the fingers of Rachel’s hand holding the phone.

Rachel was holding the phone with her left hand.

There was a ring mark on her left ring finger. Something used to be there, but at this moment, it was gone.

Lake calmly took the phone and looked at it. He looked very handsome, holding his gun with both hands in front of the White House.

"Impressive, right?"

"I’m always impressive."

Lake withdrew his gaze, handed the phone back to Rachel, and smiled, "Have you thought of a headline?"

Rachel smiled, "Not yet. I don’t have any information, how can I know the headline?"

Lake nodded, sipping the bourbon in his glass, and said in a faint tone, "The Chief of the Secret Service is dead."

Rachel froze, "What?"

Lake downed the bourbon in his glass, stood up, smiled at Rachel, and then left.

A blue sedan had just pulled up to the entrance of the coffee shop.

Lake opened the car door and got in.

Rachel came back to her senses, turned to look at the departing car, her gaze thoughtful.

The Chief of the Secret Service is dead?

Oh, shit!

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. She pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from her wallet, threw it on the table, and then got up, hurrying towards her car parked by the roadside.

Big news.

Absolutely big news.

Tomorrow’s front-page headline in Washington, I, Rachel Toledo, have got it.

Yes.

Not Rachel Armstrong, but Rachel Toledo.

Three months ago.

Rachel divorced her husband, Ray. The reason? He had cheated on her behind her back. Can you believe it? Everyone at The Sun couldn’t believe it, considering Rachel’s looks were no less than those of Hollywood actresses.

If an ordinary person had the chance to be with Rachel, they wouldn’t cheat. They’d be so eager to lick Rachel’s feet.

Yet this scumbag Ray claimed he cheated out of momentary anger due to gossip from outside.

What a player.

Hmph!

The Sun directly sent its top legal lawyers to help Rachel with her divorce case. In this lawsuit, Rachel got everything, including the ownership of Ray’s company.

As for that scumbag Ray?

Heh.

No matter which company Ray went to, The Sun’s business reporters would dig up news about that company, spreading all sorts of rumors and hearsay.

A month ago, Ray had already left Washington. Word was, he went back to his hometown.

It was quite bleak.

A cheating scumbag doesn’t deserve sympathy, and the price of cheating is very heavy. Ray not only lost everything, but he also had to pay Rachel’s alimony every month, plus child support for Josie, Rachel’s adopted daughter, which together amounted to about two thousand dollars.

It was estimated that it wouldn’t be long before Ray went completely bankrupt.

However, Ray had plans to appeal.

The reason was simple: Ray felt that since Josie was adopted, he shouldn’t have to pay child support. But this information wasn’t reported, as it involved a minor, and no media outlet dared to report it.

In the blue sedan.

Seifer, sitting in the back seat, retracted her gaze from Rachel, who was rushing to her car, and said to Lake, who was sitting beside her, with a smile, "She’s the reporter who wrote your story, isn’t she?"

Lake nodded. "What, you know her?"

Seifer replied, "Of course. You’re my lover. After so many years apart, I have to get a complete understanding of you."

Lake looked at Seifer, his gaze deep. "But I don’t understand you."

"That’s normal. Men are so careless; they aren’t as meticulous as we women."

"Makes sense."

Lake nodded in agreement.

This reason was irrefutable.

Men were generally oblivious. They rarely bothered to understand things that didn’t directly involve them. After all, in this world that so harshly oppressed men, men were already putting all their strength into just living.

However…

Lake’s expression was calm. "So, what do you want to do, Seifer?"

Seifer said, "Lake, do you remember the two-point choice theory you told me about?"

Lake raised an eyebrow and sighed. "Do you know, if you told people that you could clearly remember every word someone said to you when you were three or four years old, they’d think you were crazy, not a genius."

Seifer smiled. "Because you’re very important to me, and I only care about my identity in your eyes. I don’t care about anyone else."

Lake sighed.

The two-point choice theory.

First, everyone makes choices for their own actions.

Second, a person can only provide information for others to choose from.

Simply put, you can only control yourself, and then use the information you convey to let others make choices, thereby controlling them.

Undoubtedly.

This was another one of those childhood ramblings.

This wasn’t the Seifer Emperor he wanted!

Lake couldn’t help but shake his head.

Seifer pressed closer to Lake, her soft lips brushing against his earlobe, her breath warm. "So, Lake, what is my identity in your eyes? Tell me."

Lake looked at Seifer with calm eyes. "You are my woman."

Damn it.

Using my own theory to corner me.

Fine.

Lake took out a USB drive from his pocket and handed it over. "Don’t blow this out of proportion. You can’t handle Langley alone."

Seifer took the USB drive and gave him a passionate kiss, then said, "I have you, right?"

Lake shrugged.

Seifer kicked the driver’s seat with her right foot. The driver immediately got out and left. Then, the vehicle began to vibrate in place.

An hour later.

A private jet took off from Washington Airport.

Lake stood on the ground, watching the departing private jet. He shook his head, withdrew his gaze, put his hands in his pockets, and walked somewhat unnaturally towards the airport exit.