Arthur Pennington immediately pressed the emergency contact button on his desk. Within seconds, his head of security, Agent Marcus Sullivan, appeared in the doorway wearing his standard black suit and earpiece.
"Governor, we have a situation," Agent Sullivan announced, his muscular frame filling the doorframe. "Our monitoring systems show police vehicles at Residence Seven. Chief Monroe's GPS tracker indicates she's been stationary there for over three hours."
The governor's face darkened as he rose from his leather chair. "Get me Captain Langley at the precinct immediately, and prep the convoy. We're going downtown."
"Sir, we're already tracking social media chatter about an arrest at that address. There's video footage circulating," Agent Sullivan reported, his jaw clenched with barely contained anger.
Arthur Pennington's hands trembled as he reached for his dark suit jacket. Lydia Monroe wasn't just his security chief; she was one of the most qualified protection specialists in the country, personally recruited from the FBI's elite security division. The thought of her being treated like a common criminal made his stomach churn.
Meanwhile, at the police station, Captain Richard Langley paced behind his desk in his orange polo shirt and blue jacket, fielding increasingly urgent calls from city officials. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his weathered face as he tried to piece together what had happened at the mansion.
"Detective Park," he called out as Michelle Park hurried past his office. "Get in here, now."
Michelle Park entered, her green blouse wrinkled from stress and her notepad clenched tightly in her hands. "Captain, I've been trying to research the woman Chief Hawkins arrested, but something's not right about this whole situation."
"What do you mean 'not right'?" Captain Langley demanded, loosening his tie.