The "vendors" stood frozen on the rain-slicked pavement, their faces a merry-go-round of shock, embarrassment, and dawning terror. The "flower girl" had dropped her bouquet, the "wilted roses" scattering like debris from a car wreck, while the "pancake man" stood with his spatula still raised, looking like a statue of a failed revolutionary. Ambrose Ward’s words hadn't just exposed them; they had stripped them of their dignity in the shadow of the Joint Task Force Hotel.
Beside him, Violet Ross didn't hesitate. She had seen the "hawk's gaze" in Ambrose's eyes and knew that the time for "polite inquiry" had ended. She pulled out her official device and made the call, her voice echoing with a cold, professional clarity that cut through the sound of the rain.
"This is the Joint Investigatio
