Chapter 155

Special Agent Diana Chen’s eyes ached. Red and dry from staring at screens all night, they reflected the exhaustion etched on her face. Cold coffee cups littered her desk. She hadn’t slept; she couldn’t sleep. Not until she found what she needed in the videos from the bombed hotel.

“Play it again,” she told the tech guy beside her, her voice rough from caffeine and lack of rest. “Slow it down when it hits 9:42.”

The screen flickered as the video rewound, showing a hallway near the hotel’s electrical room. This camera, unlike most others, had survived the blast. The timestamp at the bottom read 9:41 PM. Chen leaned in, her body tense with anticipation.

A woman appeared, wearing a hotel worker’s uniform with a cap pulled low. She moved with purpose, checking her watch and glancing around before approaching the electrical panel. She retrieved something from her pocket and attached it to the wall.

“Stop it right there,” Chen said, her heart pounding. “Zoom in on her face.”

The tech tapped some keys, enlarging the image. The woman had turned slightly as she left, offering a glimpse of her face.

“Make it brighter,” Chen said, barely breathing. “And sharpen the contrast.”

As the image cleared, a jolt ran through Chen. Even with the cap and uniform, she recognized the face. She’d spent weeks memorizing it, studying every detail.

Rose Lewis.

“It’s her,” Chen whispered, then louder, “It’s her! We’ve got her on camera planting the bomb.”

The tech nodded. “We have her on other cameras too. Same woman, different bombs.”

Chen grabbed her phone, her hands shaking as she called her partner. “Morgan, it’s Chen. We’ve got her. Clear video of Rose Lewis planting at least four bombs. It’s definitely her.”

She listened for a moment, then hung up. “Print everything,” she instructed the tech. “I need pictures from every angle. And send me all the video files now.”

Within an hour, Chen stood in the FBI office’s meeting room. Pictures from the cameras covered the walls. Agents crowded around as she pointed to the clearest photo—Rose Lewis attaching a bomb to a column near the hotel kitchen.

“This is who did it,” Chen said, her voice hard with anger and relief. “Rose Lewis, 28 years old. The adopted sister of Camille Kane. She has a history of deceit and harbors intense hatred for both Camille and Victoria Kane.”

Agent Morgan stepped beside her. “We also have Herod Preston’s statement linking her to planning the bombing. And we found bomb-making materials in a storage unit she rented under a fake name.”

“So we have the motive, the method, and now proof she did it,” the field director summarized. “Where is she?”

“We don’t know,” Chen admitted, frustration tightening her chest. “Last anyone saw her was near the hotel right after the first explosion. We think she stayed to watch what she’d done.”

“People like this often do that,” Morgan added. “They want to see the pain they caused.”

The field director studied the photos, his face grim. “This attack killed six innocent people and injured over forty more. We need to find her. Now.”

“We’ve already frozen her bank accounts,” Chen said, ticking off points on her fingers. “Flagged her passport and ID. Put alerts at all airports, train stations, and borders.”

“Not enough,” the director interrupted. “We need to go public. Full media coverage. I want her face on every TV and phone screen in America by noon.”

The agents dispersed to their tasks. Chen remained, staring at the wall of pictures—Rose Lewis, sneaking through the hotel in various disguises, carefully placing bombs that would kill innocent people, all fueled by her uncontrollable hatred for her sister.

Chen stepped closer to the largest photo, her fingers lightly touching the image of the woman’s face. “I’m coming for you,” she whispered, hot tears welling in her eyes. The faces of the victims flashed in her mind—a father of three, a honeymooning couple, a retired teacher.

“No matter where you run,” Chen promised, her voice thick with exhaustion and fury, “no matter how deep you hide, I will find you. I will make you face what you’ve done.”

She pressed her forehead against the cold wall, letting the tears fall freely. This case had burrowed under her skin like no other. Perhaps it was the senselessness of it all. Or maybe it was because she’d spent countless sleepless nights studying Rose’s face.

Chapter 154 (Note: This section is significantly fragmented and contains unclear or nonsensical phrases. Substantial editing would be necessary to make it coherent and grammatically correct, and is beyond the scope of "subtle and nuanced improvements.")