Cornelius sat in an APD conference room besides his brother and his Captain. The three had gathered to discuss recent events. It was unusual for a Congressman to be involved in this kind of briefing, but given that his son was ostensibly the target, an explanation was required. Presumably, Captain Gable understood that Cornelius would be giving his brother answers, regardless of what the man ordered him to do. Better to not tempt insubordination.

Captain Abraham Gable was the son of a Nigerian immigrant. He was tall and pencil thin, and had a tendency to dress like he'd just walked out of the Victorian England era. The man was currently wearing three-piece tweed with a frock coat. His buttons were polished to a bright shine and he sported a grey cravat. It made Cornelius want to give the man a wedgie, no matter how poorly that would turn out. Gable had earned his position through a keen administrative mind, but his mutated upgrade could literally make some men shit themselves in fear.

Christopher Graham was not one of those men. Cornelius' older brother was a control freak. Hard and often cold, but the past few months had slowly ground away at the man's temper, flaying him thin until he barely resembled the person that Cornelius had grown up beside. This marked the second time this year that their family had been targeted, and neither brother was in a particularly halcyon mood.

Christopher slammed his hand down on the conference room table the instant the doors closed. His closed fist left a chasm in the hard wood, and the table groaned. He held the same A-class upgrade as Cornelius, Twice-Born, and his strength had not waned one bit in the years since he'd left the department.

"What. The fuck. Happened?" he ground out furiously.

Cornelius understood his anger. An entire day had passed, twenty-four full hours, since the man's son, and a woman he already considered his daughter, had been attacked. Chris wanted answers, they both did, and there were too few to go around.

Gable held up his hand. "Calm please, Representative Graham. That's what we are here to discuss."

Christopher took his seat with an angry grunt. "I hope you have more for me than you did yesterday."

"We have a theory," Cornelius offered. "I spoke to Detective Baker, and interviewed Connor, Freya, and their friends. I think we've got a good picture of what happened."

"By all means, enlighten me!" Christopher hissed at his brother.

Captain Gable spoke, "The license was a bust, a swap, registered to some little old lady. But we pulled the dash cam footage from Connor's car. It's not a great angle, but we think we've identified one of the shooters as Zacarias Gomez, street name Zim. Twenty-seven years old. He's got a sheet as long as your arm, everything from gun charges to attempted murder. In and out of jail his entire life."

Christopher angrily muttered something about a three strikes law, which Gable chose to ignore.

"Right now, he appears to be a lieutenant in Coldeyes' Crew," the Captain continued.

Christopher went still. His voice was quiet, controlled, as he asked, "You've verified this?"

Gable inclined his head.

Christopher leaned back in his chair, blowing out an angry breath. "What the fuck possessed them to do something so insanely stupid?" He held up his hand to forestall any answers. "No, actually, I don't care. I want the man's head on a pike! There must be consequences for this!"

"There will be," Cornelius assured him. Even if he had to do it himself.

"Good. That's good." Christopher sank back into his chair. All the anger seemed to leave him at once. "How's Connor taking it?"

"He's taking it well, all things considered," Cornelius answered.

"Your boy is a credit to the force. His partner, too," Gable confirmed.

Christopher snorted. "I'm not concerned about Freya. That girl is tougher than I am. Connor is the one that needs looking out for. He's still recovering from his previous ordeal."

"He's stronger than you give him credit for, Chris."

Christopher frowned at his brother. "It's a father's duty to check in on his son."

"Perhaps you should ask him yourself?" Cornelius shot back. "If you did, you'd know that he's far more broken up about this Webb thing than getting shot at. He's trained all his life for the latter."

Christopher clicked his tongue, turning to Gable. "Where are we on Webb?"

Gable steepled his hands. "Our working theory is a remnant faction of the People have hired Coldeyes' Crew to do their dirty work. it was brought to my attention that there were pictures of Connor leaving Webb's house, posted on an online tabloid. Perhaps the People celll took that the wrong way?"

Christopher's eyes widened in alarm. "So it's confirmed, then? You were right? He was spying for them?"

"He was certainly being paid under the table by somebody," Gable said. "We know he was making inappropriate queries about Andros Bartholomew. We know that Bartholomew worked with the People in the past. It seems to fit."

"Heavy on speculation, light on proof," Cornelius commented.

"The feds are working it," Gable offered.

Christopher butt in. "I don't like it when enemies of the state come back to life. I like it even less when the first thing they do is attack my family. This is the second time now, Abe. Are we sure that I'm not being targeted? Some kind of political faction, hoping to, to discombobulate me?"

"Discombobulate?" Cornelius echoed incredulously.

"Fuck off little brother!" Christopher snapped. "You understand what I'm getting at!"

"I'm afraid that we just don't know," Gable interjected.

"I'm hearing that too often lately. What do we know?"

"The decoy transport wasn't hit," Gable offered. "Dunkirk followed through on our message and made the switch, but it seems like whoever was pulling Webb's strings had already lost their trust in him."

"Fuck!" Christopher exclaimed. "The one time that whoreson Dunkirk listens to someoone else's advice! We should have just left it alone, sent that fucker Bartholomew on his way!"

"I've spoken to him already," Gable informed them. "He's unwilling to send out another transport. Fed me a line, the slimy shit. 'The death of a federal agent at the hands of a local gang has shifted the agency's priorities.' Bastard."

"That leads credence to the theory then, no?" Cornelius asked, attempting to refocus the conversation. "Webb's handlers had him killed, and didn't act on what he'd given them?"

"I'm worried we're overlooking something," Chris said. "There was ice all over the scene at the strip center. Practically a Coldeyes calling card. Why were they so overt?"

"You're thinking it's a false flag?" Gable asked pointedly.

"I think it was a little too obvious. Who does something like that? Sloppy," Christopher replied.

"If they thought Webb was betraying them, they could have been trying to send a message," Cornelius pointed out.

"Possibly," Christopher acknowledged. "You two really think Coldeyes would agree to work with the People?"

"I doubt it's an ideological alliance," Gable replied.

"Money then?"

"He needs the funding." Cornelius' lips twisted upwards maliciously. "His hold here is weak. Coldeyes has been spreading across the West coast like a cancer. He wants the Gulf, but we're stalling him too well."

"Not just you," Christopher noted. "The Scales have been active, I've heard."

"They'll both get their due, in time," Gable stated with certainty. "My concern is what comes next. Has old Valentine made any progress on his end?"

"The attack on his granddaughter lit a fire under his ass," Christopher replied. "He was calling old contacts all day yesterday. He'll get back to me."

"Good." Gable nodded. "We need the help. Dunkirk has proven reluctant to reach out for more manpower, and I'm damn uncomfortable having Bartholomew in my city, no matter how fancy the fed's holding cells are."

"I'm more worried about enemy manpower," Cornelius said. "If the People really are involved, we're looking at actual villains, mostly naturals. They've been quiet the past few decades, but the ideology hasn't changed. Fanatics are fanatics. Things could get bad.

"All the more reason to have Bartholomew transferred as soon as possible," Gable said. "I want peace in my city and the feds want what's in his head."

"I still think you should give me another crack at him," Cornelius commented.

"Don't start," Gable replied. "If you want to be useful, give up the name of whoever injured him to begin with. At least we'd have a baseline for what works."

"It's not my fault the feds can't pry anything out of him," Cornelius replied airily. "If Dunkirk really wanted answers, he'd have transferred Bartholomew out of the city months ago. The FBI has the resources to get past even that fella's power."

"Dunkirk wants him as a trophy," Gable said, "and he's got enough pull at Langley to get his way, for now. I think he wanted to bag whoever was behind Webb, but now that it's no longer an option, he's gonna hoard Bartholomew as long as he can. That's why it's so important that Valentine comes through."

"He's trying," Christopher said.

"Tell him to try harder." Gable rubbed his brow. "We're in the dark, here. If Coldeyes really is dealing with the People, God only knows what comes next."