The weeks that followed were a blur of headlines. Liam Callahan’s fall was not a quiet affair; it was a public immolation. He didn’t get a trial. Faced with the irrefutable evidence from the servers and his own voice damning him on tape, he took a plea, a desperate bid to avoid the full scope of his corruption being aired in open court. Twenty years in a federal prison. The sentence was swift, brutal, and just.
The Davenport family, masters of political survival, cut him loose with the surgical precision of a guillotine. Statements were issued, philanthropic donations were made, and Chloe Davenport was photographed a month later in Monaco, smiling a vacant, shell-shocked smile on the arm of a European duke. She, like her father, was a survivor. Liam was simply the cost of doing business.
