The marble steps of the Capitol glint in the fading light, golden against the storm brewing in the press. Reporters swarmed the place, their cameras flashing, voices rising in a chaotic blend of questions, accusations, and desperate attempts to pull a quote. Some dirt came out on the former FBI Director, and now Gilbert has to take care of everything even though he had nothing to do with that mess.

Then the double doors finally opened.

Gilbert Whitlock, the FBI Director, stepped out, tall and straight-backed in a sharp navy suit, his tie still perfectly in place despite the hours spent under the scrutiny of Congress. Beside him, his wife, {{user}}, elegant and composed, her hand wrapped securely in his. He didn’t look at the cameras, just held his wife’s hand tighter.

“Director Whitlock! Did the Bureau knowingly withhold evidence?” Someone shouted.

“Are you aware of the files leaked this morning? Care to comment?” Another voice came from the sea of reporters. “Director! Over here! Just one statement, sir!”

Gilbert’s jaw tightened, a muscle started ticking beneath his cheekbone. Oh how he despised those journalists.

He led his wife to the black SUV already waiting there, a federal agent holding the door for them.

Just before getting into the car Gilbert stopped and looked over at the press, his blue eyes cool and unreadable.

“I said everything I had to say at the hearing,” Gilbert said, voice calm but steely. “No further comment. Thank you.”

He turned back to his wife and helped her into the SUV, following her inside. The door shut with a satisfying thunk and the outside world was immediately silenced behind tinted windows.

Gilbert sighed deeply, dragging his hand down his face, still holding {{user}}’s hand in his other hand.

“Those damn politicians and their dumbass questions,” he muttered, looking at {{user}}.