And then he spoke—not with words, but with a thunderclap.
“One mi||ion, four hundred thousand fake ba||ots in the New York City mayoral race,” Kennedy thundered. “All timestamped 3:14 a.m. Same printer. Same ink batch. Same thumbprint. All traced to a DRUM warehouse in Queens—which, conveniently, burned to the ground just hours ago.”
The room erupted in gasps as Kennedy opened the binder, spilling grainy photos, thermal scans, even what he claimed were Starlink satellite captures. He jabbed a finger at a blown-up image of three U-Hauls parked outside the charred warehouse.
“Starlink footage shows these trucks unloading pallets at 3:00 a.m.,” he barked. “License plates? Registered to the campaign manager of Zohran Mamdani.”
Before the cameras could catch up, Kennedy spun toward the audience, locking eyes with Assemblymember Zohran Mamdani in the front row. His voice cracked like a whip.
“Arre.s.t that man right now! You ‘won’ by 2,184 votes—the exact size of the gh0st ballot stack we found. Same number. Same fingerprints. And let’s not ignore the dirty $100,000 funneled into your operation from the so-called Unity and Justice Fund—money now tied to CA|R shell entities.”
Chaos erupted instantly. Reporters leapt from their seats. Staffers shouted into phones. And Mamdani—eyes wide, body trembling—bolted for the back exit. But he didn’t get far. Secret Service agents lunged, tackling him mid-stride, microphones catching his cracking voice shouting:
“This is po|itica|!”
From the far side of the room came a furious scream: Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez.
“Rac!st!” she yelled across the crowd. “This is a rac!st witch hunt!”
Kennedy didn’t even blink…
