Kashme Kartel FBI #5

A Ghost, A Trap, and A Total Meltdown

Washington, D.C.

Senate Judiciary Committee Hearing on the Nomination of Kashme Kartel for FBI Director

He sat behind his massive mahogany desk, gripping a cold paper towel against his forehead, but it did nothing. His shirt collar felt like a noose, his hands trembled, and his breath came in shallow gasps.

He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten.

The Senate hearing was in one hour.

And someone knew.

Maybe more than one person.

His phone buzzed for the hundredth time that morning—calls from his lawyer, Pam Blondi, Wiley E. Suzzi, Don Jr. He just let it ring. Nothing they said would change the sinking feeling in his gut.

A manila folder sat in front of him, stuffed with legal notes, excuses, and outright lies he planned to use to dodge questions about his grand jury testimony.

He flipped through his prepared responses, muttering to himself:

     ✅ “Rule 6(e) prevents me from discussing it.” (Lie.)
     ✅ “I have an executive privilege claim.” (No, he didn’t.)
     ✅ “It’s classified under the Patriot Act.” (Utter nonsense.)
     ✅ “I actually don’t remember testifying at all.” (Maybe they’d buy it.)

None of them felt solid. His brain wouldn’t stop racing.

Because what if someone saw?

What if someone knew what happened to Sandy Gorman?

He shook the thought away. No. No one knew. The suicide story had stuck.

The public had moved on. It was clean. It was airtight.

Wasn’t it?

A loud knock on his door shattered his thoughts.

He screamed a little before he caught himself, clearing his throat. “COME IN!”

A stern-looking Senate staffer peered inside. “Mr. Kartel, they’re ready for you.”

Kash forced a smile as he stood, smoothing out his drenched suit jacket.

Time to lie.

The hearing room was packed.

TV cameras flashed. The chamber was swarming with press, legal analysts, and half of Washington.

At the center of it all, Kash Kartel sat behind the witness desk, gripping the microphone stand like it was his last lifeline.

At the opposite end, Senator Alan Schiff (D-MA) leaned forward, his sharp eyes locked onto Kash like a hawk sizing up a rat.

Schiff: “Mr. Kartel, you were subpoenaed to testify before a grand jury last year regarding your role in certain national security matters. Can you confirm the subject of your testimony?”

Kash smirked, leaning back in his chair.

Kartel: “Senator, I have always been a firm believer in the rule of law. However, as you know, grand jury proceedings are highly classified, and I am bound by legal constraints under Rule 6(e) of the Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure.”

Schiff arched an eyebrow.

Schiff: “That’s interesting, Mr. Kartel, because as you well know, Rule 6(e) binds prosecutors, jurors, and court personnel—not witnesses.”

Kash’s smile faltered.

Schiff: “There is no legal prohibition preventing you from disclosing what you personally said to the grand jury.”

Kash adjusted his tie, feeling it tighten around his neck.

Kartel: “Well, Senator, there may be additional restrictions placed on my testimony that I cannot discuss in an open setting.”

Schiff: “Are you claiming that you are under a gag order?”

Kartel: “I’m simply saying that I take my legal obligations very seriously.”

Schiff: “So you’re implying there’s some ‘super-secret’ gag order preventing you from answering?”

Kash felt his stomach churn.

His vision blurred for a second. He looked up, scanning the room.

And then…

He saw her.

In the back row of the chamber, behind a row of reporters…

Sandy Gorman.

She sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, just like the night she died. Her expression was blank.

Her eyes locked onto his.

Kash’s throat went dry.

He blinked.

She was still there.

He blinked again.

Her lips parted slightly.

She raised one hand… and pointed directly at him.

Kash’s heartbeat pounded so hard he thought the microphone would pick it up.

His vision swam.

No. No, no, NO.

This was impossible.

She was dead.

She was gone.

Wasn’t she?

His breath hitched. He couldn’t think.

And then came the knockout punch.

Senator Kerry Booker (D-NJ): “Mr. Kartel, I have a simple question for you.”

Kash snapped back to reality, still visibly shaken.

Booker: “Would you be willing to release your grand jury testimony to this committee?”

Kash, completely rattled, muttered without thinking:

Kartel: “The Grand Jury testimony is available to you. I encourage you to make it public.”

The room went silent.

Schiff’s eyebrows shot up.

Booker tilted his head slightly, as if savoring the moment.

Booker: “So just to confirm—you’re giving me permission to release your

testimony?”

Kash blinked, his stomach twisting.

Booker: “I will be filing a motion with the court right now.”

Booker: “Okay?”

Kash’s face turned pale.

Sandy was still staring at him.

A wave of terror washed over him.

Kartel (panicking): “I—uh—I mean—”

Booker didn’t let him off the hook.

Booker: “You just said it. You’re giving us permission. A court motion is being drafted now. Anything else you'd like to share?”

Kash’s mind snapped.

His lips parted.

And then, in a desperate attempt to save himself…

He started talking.

“You want the truth? Fine! You get everything! I have details on the coup plan! I know about the fake electors! I KNOW ABOUT THE PAYMENTS FROM THE RUSSIAN BANKS!”

“I KNOW WHAT GRUMP SAID BEHIND CLOSED DOORS! THE THREATS! THE BRIBES! THE LIES! I KNOW IT ALL!”

The Senate chamber exploded into chaos.

Kartel: “I WANT A LAWYER! I NEED A LAWYER RIGHT NOW!”

His voice cracked as he grabbed at the microphone, his eyes darting wildly.

In the back row, Sandy Gorman was gone.

Had she ever been there?

As Kash dissolved into tears on live television, cameras zoomed in on his

crumbling face.

And just like that… Kash Kartel had destroyed everything.