Washington D.C., the northeast side of Constitution Avenue.
The doors to the hearing room in the Senate Office Building were shut tight.
The hallway outside was packed with people. Reporters had set up their cameras, a forest of long lenses and microphones.
Lobbyists from various lobbying groups, dressed in expensive suits, gathered in small groups in the corners, exchanging the latest intelligence in hushed tones.
"The kid from Pittsburgh just went in."
"I hear the Republican Party is planning to eat him alive this time."
"Two billion US dollars, and he wants to mess with financial regulations. The nerve."
Whispers filled the air.
Inside.
The oppressive atmosphere was so thick it felt solid.
The lighting here was specially designed—ghastly white, harsh, and leaving no corner in shadow.
Leo Wallace sat at the witness table.
He wore a dark blue suit.
