9: Chapter 9 Urgently Summons Think Tank for Secret Talks

"Boss, that was an Alien."

"A living, breathing Alien."

"Right here in Nevada, right in Las Vegas, right in the parking lot beneath the state assembly and government building."

"We've lived here our whole lives, spent half a lifetime in politics, and yet... yet we never found a single trace."

Raymond Carter was a smart man.

He held a doctorate from Stanford, started a business in Silicon Valley, became a millionaire by thirty-six, switched to politics at forty, and had spent a full decade maneuvering through the most complex power arenas.

His IQ, according to all sorts of miscellaneous tests, was always above 155.

His way of thinking was typical of a genius: logical, rigorous, with strong deductive reasoning skills, and adept at piecing together complete causal chains from fragmented information.

But once a smart person drills into a dead end, they can never get back out.

And they just keep thinking more and more.

The Warren Family, to which he was attached, had stood tall in Nevada for over a hundred years.

From their beginnings in mining at the end of the 19th century, to railroads and casinos in the mid-20th century, and now to their current integrated political and business empire,

the eyes of the Warren Family were spread across every corner of this state.

From the State Capitol in Carson City to the backrooms of Las Vegas casinos,

from the archives of the tax bureau to the personnel department of the police station,

there was nothing in Nevada that could be hidden from the eyes of the Warren Family.

At least, that was what he had always believed.

Yet today, an Alien creature was shoved into a gray bag by two Men in Black in the underground parking lot of Las Vegas City Hall.

And the Warren Family, from start to finish, knew nothing about it.

If Link hadn't happened to see that scene in the underground garage today, the Warren Family would still be in the dark.

No, it wasn't just the Warren Family.

The entire state of Nevada, perhaps excluding those people in black suits and the middle-aged woman wearing a work badge, knew nothing.

So who was controlling all of this behind the scenes?

Besides the legendary Deep State,

that shadow power network said to exist outside the formal structure of the Federal Government, unconstrained by any elected institutions, and holding America's true secrets,

who else could it be?

But the question was, why would the Deep State capture an Alien?

When did they start capturing them?

How many have they captured?

Where were they taken after capture?

What were they studying?

What were they reverse-engineering?

Where were those reverse-engineered Alien technologies being used?

Every question was like a domino; tip one over, and a whole row would follow, leading to countless, endless chain reactions.

Raymond's brain was running wildly, like a server stuffed with too much data, its CPU temperature skyrocketing,

but with every step his reasoning took forward, his fear grew deeper.

He couldn't figure it out.

The more he thought, the more afraid he felt.

Because if he truly figured it out, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to accept the answer.

The grandfather clock in the living room ticked round after round, and Raymond stood before the coffee table, motionless.

When his mind finally struggled to escape from that terrifying whirlpool, his back was already soaked through with cold sweat.

He was drenched in sweat, his face pale, his lips almost bloodless; he looked like someone who had just been dragged out of a nightmare.

Edward Warren did not disturb him.

Throughout the entire process of Raymond falling into deep thought, he just sat quietly on the sofa, maintaining that calm posture, like a reef that had weathered many storms.

He gave Raymond enough time,

the time that smart people need to think, especially when facing information capable of destroying all their perceptions.

Only when Raymond's complexion had eased slightly did Edward speak.

His voice remained steady, but beneath that steadiness was an extremely thin, almost imperceptible layer of tension.

"Raymond."

"Yes, Boss."

"Tomorrow morning at ten, at the fishing cabin at Gold Lake."

Edward said slowly, every word sounding as if it had been weighed before being released.

Raymond's pupils constricted.

Gold Lake,

that was a very remote lake in northern Nevada, with almost no one living around it;

the Warren Family had an old lakeside cabin there, nominally used for vacation fishing, but in reality, it was an excellent location for secret meetings.

In the past decade, Edward only used that place when handling the most confidential matters.

"You are responsible for notifying James Hawthorne, Victor Sloan, and Margaret Chen," Edward said, enunciating every word,

"Tell them, tomorrow morning at ten, not a single one can be missing."

Raymond's breath hitched.

James Hawthorne, the Warren Family's chief legal counsel, one of the top lawyers in Las Vegas, a veteran who had been deeply involved in Nevada's legal circles for forty years, having handled countless unknown gray affairs for the Warren Family.

Victor Sloan, the Warren Family's campaign financial advisor and fund manager, who controlled the financial lifeline of the entire Warren political machine, a Wall Street veteran turned hedge fund manager, with a sense for money as sharp as a shark.

Margaret Chen, the Warren Family's media strategy consultant, the most influential PR operator in Las Vegas, with connections in the media circle so extensive that she could make one of your scandals evaporate from all news platforms within thirty minutes.

These three people, plus Raymond himself, made up the Warren Family's core think tank.

Four people, each responsible for one field, for ten years as one day, never making a mistake.

Summoning all four people to the Gold Lake fishing cabin at the same time—Raymond had worked for the Warren Family for ten years, and such a thing had only happened three times.

The first time was when Senator Edward was implicated in a bribery charge sufficient to end his political career; the four gathered for an entire afternoon and crushed that charge at its root.

The second time was when a competitor tried to pull Edward from his position as Chairman of the Appropriations Committee in the State Senate; the four spent a month laying out a plan, and in the end, the competitor not only failed in their proposal but even lost their own seat.

The third time was today.

And this time, Raymond intuitively felt that the matter was far more serious than the previous two combined.

"I understand, Boss."

Raymond's voice regained some composure, but it remained dry,

"I will notify the three of them personally, without going through any intermediaries."

"From this moment on, the content of this video is known only to the people in this room; it will not spread to a fourth person."

Edward nodded slightly.

Raymond turned and walked toward the door.

His steps were steadier than when he arrived, but one could still see traces of tension.

When he reached the door, he paused, as if wanting to turn back and say something else...

But in the end, he didn't.

He pushed the door open and walked into the night of Las Vegas.

The taillights of the dark blue Tesla flashed twice at the end of the driveway, then disappeared in the direction of Spring Mountain Road.

Only Edward Warren and his son remained in the parlor.