At that moment, the civilian awardee Chris Franco and his family, chatting and laughing, walked out of the White House, each face brimming with warmth and pride.

A few FBI agents stepped forward and blocked in front of Chris Franco, "Are you Chris Franco?"

Chris Franco asked with a smile, "Yes, that's me. Did you catch the live broadcast of the award ceremony?"

"Yes, but we're not here for that." A white male in an FBI uniform showed his badge, "I'm FBI agent Giovanni Eser, and this is my badge."

The smile on Chris Franco's face faded, "Do you need me for something?"

"Chris Franco, in 2016, you stole a television from Pistolro Mall and were sentenced to 18 days in jail.

Here is your arrest warrant.

We are now going to arrest you by law." FBI agent Giovanni Eser gestured to his accompanying agents to make the arrest.

"No, I've just been honored by the Great Commander; you can't do this to me..." Chris Franco's expression turned to one of fear and anger as he involuntarily backed away.

Standing in the way of the FBI agents was Fatou Brandi, also an awardee, "What are you trying to do? This is the White House, you know?"

Everyone was at a podium for the award, and though it was not a case of shared glory or shared loss, if Chris Franco were taken away, it would reflect poorly on the other awardees as well.

FBI agent Giovanni Eser displayed the arrest warrant, "This is his arrest warrant; I have the authority and responsibility to arrest him anywhere."

At this, Luke, no longer staying aloof, took the arrest warrant to examine it. It was indeed a valid arrest warrant, and after verifying, he handed it back to Giovanni Eser.

Luke, unclear about the reasons behind what was happening, stepped aside for the moment.

FBI agent Giovanni Eser pulled out handcuffs and arrested Chris Franco in front of a large audience.

Chris Franco didn't dare resist, but kept pleading, "You can't do this, I was just awarded a hero's certificate by the Great Commander, you can't treat me like a criminal...

This is unfair, you can't do this."

"Click, click..."

The flashes from cameras were non-stop around them.

Television reporters crowded around, bombarding with questions.

"Why is the FBI arresting Chris Franco, one of the civilian heroes awarded this time?"

"Can you tell us what crimes Chris Franco has committed?"

"Why are you arresting someone at the entrance of the White House, is there a deeper reason for this?"

FBI agent Giovanni Eser escorted Chris Franco into the car, "Sorry, no comment." He then shut the car door, and the car left the White House.

Seeing the situation, Luke hurriedly slipped away.

If he didn't leave, he would definitely be surrounded by reporters asking questions; knowing nothing, it would only draw him into the vortex unnecessarily.

Luke ran, while other award recipients who were slow to react found themselves surrounded by reporters, facing countless questions.

Back in his hotel room, Luke was still pondering the incident, feeling somewhat uneasy.

The Great Commander had just awarded Chris Franco a commendation certificate, praising him as a brave citizen.

Yet, this hero was suddenly arrested right outside the White House.

So was he a hero or a fugitive?

Not only the co-awardees felt uneasy.

The most upset would probably be the Great Commander, facing outright humiliation.

Luke guessed that the Great Commander was likely in the White House office, furiously cursing, which was definitely within his character.

Luke suddenly missed Los Angeles a bit.

...

At eight in the evening, at the hotel's terrace bar.

Luke ordered a draft beer and pondered over his thoughts while drinking.

A gust of fragrant breeze struck, and Luke looked up to see a beautiful figure in a wine-red long dress approaching him, the stunning face and shapely long legs belonged to the beautiful detective Orty.

Luke asked, "What would you like to drink?"

"Bloody Mary."

"Matches your outfit today perfectly," Luke smiled and said to the bartender, "A Bloody Mary, please."

"What's the rush, big hero, looking for me like this?"

"I want to change the plan, shorten my stay in Washington, and head back to Los Angeles earlier."

"Why?"

"You promised to act as my guide, to show me around Washington, but you stood me up."

"Come on, the Captain Luke I know isn't that petty."

Luke scanned the surroundings, leaned forward, and whispered, "A civilian honoree was taken away by an FBI agent at the White House gate, did you know that?"

"I knew you were going to ask about that. So, before coming here, I made some inquiries, Chris Franco has been released again."

"When?"

"Just half an hour ago."

"Did the FBI arrest the wrong person?"

"No.

But the agency that issued the original arrest warrant didn't want to take custody, so the FBI released him afterward."

Luke countered, "Do you think that's normal?"

Orty thought for a moment, "It may not be normal in other countries, but this is the United States."

"That's why I don't like Washington."

"You never said before that you didn't like Washington?"

"It's not too late to say it now."

"So what do you want to do now? Do you need me to keep digging?"

Luke pondered, "No need, I don't want to get too involved. Once I'm back in Los Angeles, even if the White House gets hijacked, it won't concern me."

"You really are a man who fears the world may not be in chaos," Orty chuckled.

Suddenly, a voice rang out beside them, "Hey, beautiful, can I buy you a drink?"

A white man with a glass in his hand, slightly tipsy, walked over and stood beside Orty, sizing her up.

Orty turned her head, "Are you talking to me?"

"Of course, is there anyone here hotter than you?"

"You have good taste, but I'm with someone."

The white man raised his glass towards Luke, "Are you talking about him?"

Luke said with a smile, "That's right, we have some private matters to discuss. Sir, you can leave now."

The white man, tall and imposing, waggled his finger, "Nonono, it's you who should leave. Now it's my turn to have a drink with this lovely lady.

I'll give you thirty seconds to disappear from my sight."

Luke looked sharply at him, his gaze full of interest. If this were Los Angeles, this guy would already be lying on the ground.

The white man checked his watch, his right index finger pointing at Luke, "Ten seconds left."

Without warning, Orty grabbed the man's right index finger and twisted it backward.

"Ah!"

The white man let out a cry of pain, bent over at the waist, and knelt on the ground.

"Ouch, my hand..."

"Next time you make an invitation, you might want to ask my opinion first," Orty said, kicking him in the chest; the white man was kicked to the ground, instantly sobering up.

The white man glared at Orty and Luke, cursed under his breath, and ran off.

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