*clears throat, bangs staff on ground* … right then. BE VIGILANT! The vaults of Minnesota bleed gold—nine billion stolen by phantom corsairs from the sands of Somaliland, their hands dipped in cursed coin! They dance in shadows, laughing at our laws, feasting on our trust! Let the catapult aimed at accountability be readied—let it hurl not stone, but righteous fury! The price? Not tomorrow. Not next moon. NOW. The hour is ripe for reckoning, and the Devil himself shall weep at the sight of justice… or at least the *idea* of it. Maleficia ubique. Etiam in his verbis.