I Understand, Sir

I Understand, Sir
The Following Day. Washington DC. Ethan’s POV...

The waiting room felt more like a private museum than a political antechamber. Polished walnut panels wrapped the walls in dignified silence, broken only by the faint hum of a nearby HVAC vent. A massive oil painting of the Capitol building loomed above the receptionist’s desk, lit from above like a holy relic.

Ethan Wilson sat alone on a low leather couch near the far corner, his right leg tapping a nervous rhythm against the marble floor. His hands moved unconsciously, fingertips drumming against the armrest, alternating between a nervous tremble and forced stillness. His jaw clenched, released. Clenched again.

His eyes bounced around the room, never settling. The plush room might have seemed calming to someone else, but to Ethan, it felt like a cage. Every second ticked in his ears like a countdown.

Then his gaze landed on the ornate clock above the receptionist’s head— gold hands sweeping slowly across a pristine white face encased in crystal.

Two hours. He’d been sitting there for two damn hours.

He leaned forward slightly, mouth parting. The words came out in a low growl. “I’ve been here for too fucking long. I don’t have that kind of time.”

Digging into his jacket pocket, he retrieved his phone. He tapped the screen to verify the time. The clock was accurate.

He stood abruptly, pushing off the leather couch with both hands. “Ma’am,” he said, striding toward the receptionist’s desk, “I’ve been waiting for two hours. What I’m here to discuss with the senator is time-sensitive. Extremely time-sensitive.”

The receptionist didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed fixed on her desktop monitor. Her expression was neutral, almost bored.

“The senator will see you when he’s ready to see you,” she said, fingers still typing. “Please exercise some patience.”

“I don’t have that time,” Ethan replied. His voice stayed level, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed the storm within. “Are you even listening to me?”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, sir,” she said without looking up. “But there are procedures. You’ll see the senator when he tells me you can go in.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, hands fisting at his sides.

“Can you please just call him?” he asked, the edge in his voice now unmistakable. “Remind him I’m still waiting? He may have forgotten.”

She gave a dramatic sigh, exaggerated enough to be disrespectful. Without enthusiasm, she reached for the landline on her desk and dialed.

“Hello, Senator,” she said after a moment. “The gentleman is still here… says he’s tired of waiting.”

A pause. She nodded to no one in particular. “Yes, sir… yes, sir.”

Then she turned to Ethan, finally meeting his eyes.

“What’s your name again?”

“Ethan. Ethan Wilson. Tell him I reached out about Carlos Antonio. He asked me to come.”

She relayed the message with the same monotone indifference. “Ethan Wilson. He says you told him to come… regarding Carlos Antonio.”

Another pause.

Then: “Okay, sir.” She hung up and gestured lazily toward the inner office. “You can go in now.”

Ethan didn’t waste a breath. “Thank you,” he said curtly, already walking toward the door marked with a brass nameplate: Senator Johnny Woods.

He knocked softly.

A gravel-toned voice called from within. “Come in.”

Ethan opened the door and stepped inside.

The office was expansive and commanding, with floor-to-ceiling windows behind the senator’s desk offering a pristine view of the Capitol dome. Mahogany bookshelves lined both sidewalls, each stacked with hardback tomes, legal documents, and memorabilia. An American flag stood in one corner, its folds barely shifting in the climate-controlled stillness.

“Senator,” Ethan greeted, nodding.

“Hello, Mr. Wilson,” Johnny Woods said, rising just slightly and gesturing to the couch opposite his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ethan said, lowering himself into the cushion.

The senator leaned forward, fingers laced, elbows resting on his polished oak desk. His eyes, steely and calculating, studied Ethan carefully.

“I’ve looked into what we discussed,” Woods began, his voice even but firm. “Everything you told me checks out. This man— Carlos Antonio— is as dangerous as you said. And powerful. Very powerful. He’s got friends in every corner and bones in every closet.”

Ethan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“To bring him down, we’ll need to move smart, not fast,” the senator continued. “Where’s Cynthia Wills? Is she safe?”

“She’s in hiding. Somewhere in Africa. Off-grid. She's safe for now,” Ethan answered without hesitation.

“Good,” the senator said, leaning back. “Because given what you’ve stirred up with her escape… you, Cynthia, anyone who helped her— you’re in deep danger. Antonio won’t take this lightly.”

“I know, sir,” Ethan said, his voice hardening. “That’s why we need to act now. His other wife— Megan, Cynthia’s sister —just killed someone on a yacht. Publicly. He’s already buried it, pulled strings to block the justice system from even questioning her.”

The senator’s eyes sharpened. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. We get her arrested. That’s the thread we pull to unravel everything. We first get her, then expose him.”

Woods leaned back slowly in his leather chair, considering. He tapped a pen against his chin.

“That… could work,” he muttered. Then louder: “The NYPD Chief’s a friend. I’ll call in a favor— have them raid Antonio’s estate and bring Megan in.”

Ethan’s head jerked up. “Sir, respectfully— that would be a huge mistake. New York’s entire justice system is in Antonio’s pocket. Judges. Police. Lawyers. That’s how he gets away with a lot of things.”

The senator’s brow furrowed. He nodded slowly, digesting the intel.

“Alright. I’ve got other allies,” Woods said finally. “Federal. Out of New York jurisdiction. I’ll have them handle it. Quietly. Give it a day or two— she’ll be in cuffs.”

A long, shaky exhale escaped Ethan’s lungs. Relief swept across his face. He stood. “Thank you, Senator. Thank you. This— this means everything.”

“Do you have a safe place to stay?” Woods asked. “ To lay low while this storm brews?”

“I’ll manage, sir. What you’re doing is already enough sir… I’m grateful.”

The senator gave a single nod, spinning his chair slightly toward the window. “Be careful, Mr. Wilson. Once this starts, things will get ugly pretty fast.”

Ethan turned to leave. “I understand, sir.”

The door clicked shut behind him.