111: Chapter 111 Unanimous Votes to Zeta Planet

Due to the Biden Administration's comprehensive information blackout, intertwined with fragmented intelligence of varying authenticity, the five major tycoons had not yet been able to fully clarify the internal divisions within the Deep State between the Longevity Faction and the Tech Faction in such a short time.

They only temporarily linked the 200,000-strong Space Fleet that appeared over the Hoover Dam last night to the Crane Family of the Jewish Financial Groups, identifying the former as the "Deep State" armed force relied upon by the latter, which was fostered by the Moth Star.

William Vanderbilt V spoke first during the silence, moving his whiskey glass a few inches toward the corner of the table, as if clearing space for his argument.

"Since it is now clear that the Deep State fostered by the Moth Star is stronger, with 200,000 Space Fleet ships sitting there, having wiped out 2,000 flying saucers and then regrouped neatly, why don't we send someone to talk to the Jewish Financial Groups?"

"See if we can secure the status of a Moth Star proxy."

"As long as we can obtain this status, we will still have a seat at the table after the million-strong Zeta Star army arrives."

Jacob Rothschild replied almost immediately. His tone was calm and composed, but the chill seeping through his words was comparable to a biting cold wind.

"Those Jewish Financial Groups have been cooperating with the Moth Star people since a hundred years ago, and all proxy seats have long been allocated."

"If you go to lick their boots now, you won't even be in time for a fresh meal of shit."

William's face darkened slightly, his voice stifling his irritation, but he did not lose his composure.

"If you don't agree, you don't agree. What's the meaning of resorting to personal attacks?"

"I'm talking about business logic; stop throwing your sarcastic tone in my face."

A faint curve appeared on the corner of Jacob's mouth, and just as he was about to retort, Samuel Astor raised his hand to press down, causing the two to fall silent again. He did not raise his volume, but his tone carried obvious impatience, with residual anger still contained between the lines.

"Stop arguing."

He pressed his fingers on the table and slowly pulled them toward himself.

"Alien technology is far superior to Earth's; we cannot bet our chips on Earth's side."

"On this point, everyone present should have no objections. You don't think those few b-2 bomber at The Pentagon can withstand the light-spear-level energy weapons from last night, do you?"

"So, excluding the option of binding ourselves to the current Earth government, there are only two paths left."

"Either defect to the Grey Alien of the Zeta Star, or defect to the Moth Star people."

Isabelle DuPont pressed the sleep button on the encrypted tablet in front of her, placed her hands flat and crossed on the table, her tone cold and precise.

"And the Moth Star people clearly are no longer lacking proxies on Earth."

She did not finish her sentence and slowly shifted her gaze to Rockefeller III, who was sitting on the left side of the long table.

The same action passed through the study like a wave; Samuel Astor turned his head, Jacob Rothschild uncrossed his fingertips, and William Vanderbilt V pushed his whiskey glass back as far as it would go.

Rockefeller III met everyone's gaze, took a deep breath, and said, word for word, the conclusion that everyone present had already rolled over countless times in their minds.

"That's right, defecting to the Grey Alien of the Zeta Star is our only current option."

Samuel Astor did not say anything superfluous.

Isabelle DuPont's lips pursed slightly, then she gave a slight nod, the movement minimal but clean and decisive.

Jacob Rothschild slowly turned over and flattened the palm that had held countless war bonds on the table, accepting this decision with a nearly silent acquiescence.

William Vanderbilt V downed the remaining whiskey in his glass, pressed the bottom of the glass back onto the walnut table, and produced a short, muffled sound; it was agreement, not hesitation.

Samuel Astor put his reading glasses back on the bridge of his nose, crossed his hands next to the intelligence files, and looked at Rockefeller III.

"We collectively agree to defect to the Zeta Star."

"But... how do we contact the Grey Alien? Do you have any leads?"

"I don't know either." Rockefeller III shook his head,

"However, the Grey Alien's requirements have already been clearly and explicitly told to us."

"They want to retrieve the Fourth Prince, Prince Dao Dun, who was kidnapped by the Deep State."

"In other words, as long as we can rescue the Fourth Prince, Prince Dao Dun, we will be qualified to meet the Grey Alien of the Zeta Star."

Samuel Astor rested his hands on the armrests and leaned forward,

Isabelle DuPont stopped the fingertips that were slowly tapping on the table,

Jacob Rothschild uncrossed his arms from his chest and placed them on the armrests on both sides,

William Vanderbilt V pushed the photo of the alien spaceship wreckage that he had turned over repeatedly next to his whiskey glass to the side.

The four of them spoke almost simultaneously, their gazes all pinned on Rockefeller III's face:

"Do you know the whereabouts of the Fourth Prince, Prince Dao Dun?"

Rockefeller III raised his hands, signaling that he was not hiding the most critical answer.

"I certainly don't."

"However, I know who witnessed the entire process of the Fourth Prince, Prince Dao Dun being kidnapped."

Samuel Astor took the lead in taking off his reading glasses, his upper body leaning almost entirely across the long table.

"Who is it?"

Isabelle DuPont, Jacob Rothschild, and William Vanderbilt V immediately followed by lowering their voices and pressing for an answer, four pairs of eyes locked entirely on Rockefeller III alone.

Rockefeller III returned to leaning back against his chair, his tone unhurried:

"Link Warren."

"The young master of the Warren Family, a century-old political family in Nevada, and the son of Nevada Senator Edward Warren."

"This young master Link of the Warren Family, two months ago, in the underground garage of the Las Vegas City Hall, witnessed the entire process of the Deep State kidnapping the alien Grey Alien."

"As long as we find this young master Link, all the mysteries will be solved."

...

At the same time, Washington, D.C., Federal Detention Center, District 3.

Prant sat in a detention cell only six feet square, his back against the cold concrete wall, his legs propped up on the metal bed frame of the narrow bed, his suit jacket crumpled into a ball and placed next to the pillow, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He had been here for less than twenty-four hours,

but for him, more than five minutes of detention was an intolerable political humiliation.

Fortunately, his lawyer arrived before dawn with a full set of bail documents.

Five million dollars in bail.

For Prant, this money didn't even count as a fraction of his total assets.

When he finished signing the last document, he didn't even put the cap back on the pen, simply threw it onto the folder in the lawyer's hand, and stood up.

He now only had one thing on his mind:

the next presidential election.

As long as he could be successfully elected, those who had tripped him up and framed him in the past, those who had conspired to play him in the White House staff room and the secret rooms of the intelligence system,

he would not let a single one of them go!