New York (US)
The sudden, thunderous bang yanked me from my slumber with an abruptness that sent my heart racing.
As I fought to fully open my bleary eyes, the once tranquil hotel room transformed into a scene of utter chaos.
"FBI! HANDS UP! DON'T MOVE!" the order rang out, shattering the precarious calm.
I shot awake, my heart pounding violently against my ribcage. The luxurious suite I had basked in just moments before—complete with plush sheets, the shimmering city skyline, and the warmth of bodies nearby—vanished in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread.
A swarm of men surged into the room.
They were clad in black jackets emblazoned with the bold letters that left no room for misunderstanding:
FBI.
Weapons were pointed, commands were yelled, and the sound of boots crashed against the marble floor, reverberating with unsettling authority.
The two young women beside me erupted into screams. One clutched the blanket to her chest, shaking with what I could only assume was a mix of fear and disbelief. The other was already in the throes of a breakdown, tears streaming down her cheeks in heartbreaking rivulets.
In that moment, I felt paralyzed between them, my thoughts a swirling mist, devoid of coherence.
Suddenly, a gun was pushed alarmingly close to my face, the metallic glint of the barrel reflecting the harsh light.
"Hands up. Slowly," came the terse command.
With a sense of disbelief, I lifted my arms into the air, a daunting weight settling upon them as if they were no longer my own.
An agent stepped forward, his gaze icy and unyielding, piercing through the chaos around us.
"Are you Samuel Chase?" he demanded, cutting straight to the core of the matter.
I realized lying would serve no purpose.
I swallowed hard, the dry lump in my throat barely allowing the truth to escape my lips. "Yes."
That one, simple word felt like a contract sealing my fate.
They yanked me off the bed, forcefully securing my wrists behind my back with cold metal handcuffs that snapped into place with a resounding click, an ominous sound that rang louder in my ears than the echoes of the girls' panicked cries.
"You have the right to remain silent," a disembodied voice droned on, the legal terms washing over me in a surreal haze.
"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
The gravity of those words felt almost unreal, as if I were caught in a nightmare from which there was no escape.
Surely, this was a misunderstanding.
I had run afoul of the law before—minor arrests, hair-raising close calls—but nothing like this. This time, there were far too many agents involved and a level of force I had never encountered.
As they roughly guided me out of the suite, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the two girls curled up on the bed, still sobbing in terror, their lives shattered in a matter of moments.
And then, with a finality that sent a chill down my spine, the door slammed shut behind me.
They pushed me into the back of an FBI van, the interior dark and foreboding. The engine roared to life, and the city outside blurred into a jumble of lights and shadows through the grimy windows.
Inside my head, my thoughts were racing like a runaway train.
What crime had I committed?
What evidence had they accumulated against me?
How did they manage to track me down? I was just spending a 1 month vacation in the US.
Amid the turmoil, one thought sliced through the confusion with brutal clarity.
This wasn't merely an arrest; this was an extraction.
And whatever they had on me was consequential enough to shatter my entire world.