Wisconsin Republican gubernatorial candidate Rep. Tom Tiffany and his pilot escaped a sinking aircraft Saturday night after an emergency water landing in Lake Wausau, both men survived with minor injuries.
The four-seat Beechcraft Bonanza lost power on final approach to Wausau Downtown Airport around 8:49 p.m., leaving pilot Leonard Boltz with seconds to bring the aircraft down onto the lake. The plane hit the water, began taking on water immediately, and started to sink. Tiffany and Boltz called 911, climbed out of the submerging cockpit, and swam to a shallow area to wait for help. A Wausau Fire Department airboat reached both men by 9:05 p.m., roughly sixteen minutes after the first sign of mechanical trouble.
Both men were taken to Aspirus Wausau Hospital. Tiffany suffered a gash above his right eye that required 12 stitches after his head struck the dashboard on impact. Boltz received four stitches. Beyond that, injuries were minor, and both were released from the hospital.
Tiffany recounted the final moments before the crash at a subsequent news conference. The pilot warned him bluntly as the engine quit. Tiffany told reporters:
"Len said to me, 'We are going down. Pull your seatbelt tight.'"
Boltz made a split-second call that likely prevented a far worse outcome: he raised the landing gear before the plane hit the water. With wheels retracted, the aircraft skimmed the surface rather than catching and cartwheeling, a scenario that could have been fatal for both men.
Tiffany, visibly emotional, credited the outcome to providence and to Boltz's skill. Aviation emergencies involving small single-engine planes over water at night leave almost no margin for error, and Boltz's composure under pressure turned a potential catastrophe into a survivable crash.
The congressman had been flying home from the La Crosse County Lincoln Day Dinner, a Republican political event in western Wisconsin, when the engine failed. The flight path to Wausau Downtown Airport crosses miles of central Wisconsin terrain, and the lake happened to be directly beneath them on final approach, a narrow stroke of luck that gave Boltz a viable landing surface in the dark.
Aviation incidents have drawn renewed public attention in recent months, including a deadly Amazon cargo plane crash in Miami that killed five people on the ground. Saturday's outcome in Wisconsin was far different, but it underscored how quickly routine flights can turn dangerous.
CNN verified dispatch audio from the rescue operation. Emergency crews from the Marathon County Sheriff's Office, the Wausau Fire Department, the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources, and the Wisconsin State Patrol all responded to the scene. The audio captured the urgency of the search as responders raced to locate the aircraft in the dark water.
One official on the dispatch recording said plainly: "Boat heads back to landing with two victims." By 9:05 p.m., the airboat had both men aboard.
The Daily Caller reported that the Marathon County Sheriff's Office identified Boltz as the pilot and provided the timeline to multiple outlets. The Federal Aviation Administration has taken over the investigation into the cause of the power failure. No findings have been released, and the specific mechanical failure remains unknown.
Survival stories in small-aircraft water landings are uncommon. Last year, all eleven passengers survived a floatplane crash near Washington's San Juan Islands, but many similar incidents end differently. The FAA review will determine whether the Bonanza had any prior maintenance issues or airworthiness concerns.
Tiffany, who represents Wisconsin in Congress, is running for governor as the Republican nominee. His Democratic opponent, Milwaukee County Executive David Crowley, responded to the crash without partisanship. Crowley said through CBS News:
"I'm grateful to God that Congressman Tiffany and no one else was hurt in this horrifying incident, which could have been a tragedy if not for the heroism of the pilot."
Crowley's acknowledgment of Boltz's heroism matched Tiffany's own account. The congressman's post on X laid out the sequence in detail and ended with a note of gratitude. Just The News reported the full statement, in which Tiffany credited the pilot, the Wausau Fire Department, and other first responders for the rescue.
Tiffany wrote that his wife, Chris, was by his side at the hospital afterward. He closed his post with a line that carried more weight after a night spent swimming from a sinking plane:
"God was watching over us tonight, and I am incredibly grateful to be here in the hospital with my wife, Chris, by my side. An experience like this reminds you just how precious life is."
The Washington Examiner identified the aircraft as a Beechcraft K35, a variant of the Bonanza line that has been in production since the late 1940s. Fox News-cited records also described it as a four-seat Bonanza. Whether the aircraft's age or maintenance history contributed to the failure is now a question for the FAA.
Small-aircraft safety has become a recurring concern. A fatal air ambulance crash in New Mexico earlier this year raised separate alarms about GPS jamming risks in U.S. aviation, highlighting the range of hazards that pilots and passengers face outside the commercial airline system.
The timeline tells the story of how close the margin was. Mechanical trouble hit at roughly 8:49 p.m. The plane went down just before 9 p.m. Both men were out of the water by 9:05 p.m. In those sixteen minutes, an engine quit, a pilot ditched a plane on a lake at night, two men escaped a sinking cockpit, swam through dark water, reached a shallow spot, and waited for a fire department airboat to find them.
Every link in that chain held. Boltz kept his composure and made the right call on the landing gear. Tiffany got his seatbelt tight and got out of the aircraft. The 911 call went through. The responders arrived fast. None of it was guaranteed.
The FAA investigation will eventually produce answers about why the Bonanza's engine failed. For now, two men walked out of a Wisconsin hospital with stitches and their lives, and the pilot who put them there deserves every bit of credit he is getting.
Secretary of State Marco Rubio brushed aside growing speculation about a 2028 White House bid during a diplomatic trip to Colombia, insisting he has "no plans" to run, while stopping just short of closing the door entirely.
Rubio made the comments Tuesday while speaking with Colombian broadcasters RCN and NTN24 from Barranquilla, Colombia. Asked about his political future, the secretary of state pointed to the weight of his current workload: he holds two positions simultaneously in the Trump administration, serving as both the nation's top diplomat and interim National Security Advisor.
His answer was careful. He did not say never. He said not now.
NBC News reported that Rubio has also privately told at least one person in recent months that he does not plan to run in 2028, a detail that suggests the public hedging reflects a settled, if unannounced, decision rather than coy positioning.
Still, in Washington, "no plans at this time" is the softest possible no. And Rubio's careful phrasing left enough room for a future reversal that the political class will keep watching.
The fullest version of Rubio's remarks, as Breitbart reported, went beyond a simple deflection. Rubio framed his answer around his obligations, not his ambitions:
"Well, I don't know what the future holds, but I have no plans at this time. I'm 100% focused on my jobs."
He added a second line that reinforced the message: "I want to be the secretary of state, and I'll worry about the future in the future."
Rubio has previously endorsed Vice President JD Vance for 2028, calling him a "very good friend" and a "phenomenal candidate." That endorsement, combined with Tuesday's comments, amounts to a clear signal: Rubio sees Vance as the heir apparent and is not positioning himself as a rival.
The dynamic matters because both men have been floated as possible successors to President Trump. A recent poll showed Rubio faring better than Vance in hypothetical 2028 matchups against Democratic candidates, a data point that could tempt a less disciplined politician into keeping the speculation alive. Rubio chose to tamp it down instead.
That restraint is worth noting. Rubio ran for president once before, in 2016, and knows what a campaign demands. His decision to channel his energy into his current role rather than lay early groundwork for another bid reflects a seriousness about the job he holds now.
Just The News reported that Rubio pointed to his family and personal priorities as factors shaping his focus. Holding down the State Department and the National Security Council at the same time is not a part-time commitment. Rubio framed his dual portfolio as a reason to stay locked in, not a springboard for something bigger.
"I don't know what the future holds, but I have no plans at this time. I'm not a candidate for anything right now. And I'm 100% focused on my job, and I have to be because I have two jobs."
The statement is notable for what it lacks. No winking. No "we'll see." No trial-balloon language designed to keep donors warm. Rubio described himself as a man with more work than hours, not a man shopping for a promotion.
His trip to Colombia itself underscored the point. While Washington pundits gamed out 2028 brackets, Rubio was in Barranquilla conducting diplomatic business, doing the job, in other words, rather than auditioning for the next one.
Rubio's tenure at State has already produced friction with foreign governments. A confrontation with a former Mexican president's son over a revoked visa drew sharp personal attacks against Rubio, the kind of heat that comes with enforcing policy rather than merely talking about it.
He has also moved aggressively on immigration enforcement. Rubio revoked the legal status of a convicted child sex offender whom Minnesota's governor had tried to shield, clearing the way for ICE to remove the individual from the country. Actions like that build a record, one that speaks louder than campaign positioning.
Rubio's deferral to Vance lands in a political environment where the vice president's own future is the subject of similar speculation. Usha Vance recently addressed the question from the family side, keeping options open without committing to a timeline.
If Rubio means what he says, and the private assurances reported by NBC News suggest he does, then the 2028 Republican field loses one of its strongest potential entrants before it ever forms. Rubio's polling advantage over Vance in hypothetical general-election matchups would have made him a formidable primary candidate. Walking away from that leverage is not something politicians do lightly.
But Rubio's language was precise, not absolute. "No plans at this time" is a statement about today, not a binding commitment about 2027 or 2028. Circumstances change. Polls shift. And the man himself acknowledged as much: "I don't know what the future holds."
For now, though, the signal is clear. Rubio wants to run the State Department and the National Security Council, not a campaign. In a political culture that treats every cabinet appointment as a stepping stone, that focus is worth more than another announcement speech.
Vice President JD Vance used his wife's blunt refusal to join him on stage at the Republican midterm convention in Dallas as a springboard to defend the nuclear family and challenge Democrats on cultural priorities.
Vance told the packed American Airlines Center that he had called Usha Vance and asked her to fly to Dallas to introduce him. She declined, and she did not hold back. The Irish Star reported the Second Lady's response, relayed by Vance himself from the stage and originally sourced through Yahoo! News:
"H*** no! I've got four kids to take care of."
The crowd loved it. And Vance, rather than letting the laugh line fade, turned it into the centerpiece of his argument. He pivoted from his wife's candid answer into a full-throated defense of traditional family life and a pointed critique of what he characterized as progressive efforts to undermine it.
Usha Vance had reason to stay put. The couple's fourth child, Alec, was born in late July, just weeks before the convention. With a newborn and three other children at home, the Second Lady chose diapers over Dallas. Vance praised her for what he described as her patience in managing the household while he carried out his duties on the road.
The anecdote landed because it was specific and human. It was not a polling-tested applause line about "family values" in the abstract. It was a husband admitting, in front of thousands of Republican activists, that his wife had told him no, and that she was right to do it.
Usha Vance is no stranger to accomplishment outside the home. She holds a law degree from Yale Law School and built a career as a corporate litigator before her husband's rise to the vice presidency. That background makes her choice to stay home with a weeks-old baby a deliberate one, not a default.
She has also been increasingly visible in public life, balancing her family role with a growing media presence that has drawn attention in its own right.
What made the moment more than a charming family story was where Vance took it next. He used Usha's refusal as a launching pad to challenge Democrats and progressive figures he accused of working to dismantle traditional family structures. The specifics of his policy critique were not fully captured in published reporting, but the thrust was clear: the nuclear family is under cultural and political pressure, and the people applying that pressure sit on the other side of the aisle.
That framing fits a pattern Vance has built over years in public life. He has consistently argued that stable two-parent households are the foundation of a functioning society, and that elite institutions, from universities to federal agencies, too often treat that view as backward rather than essential.
His broader political trajectory has leaned heavily on that message, connecting family stability to economic opportunity, community safety, and national identity.
The Dallas speech also underscored something about the vice president's public style. Vance is willing to use personal vulnerability, a wife who says no, a household stretched thin by a newborn, as political currency. He does not hide behind the polished image of a perfectly managed political family. He leads with the mess and argues from there.
The Second Lady has carved out a distinct lane. She recently hosted a podcast appearance featuring President Trump reading a children's book, a moment that mixed lightheartedness with political reach. She has managed to stay relatable without becoming a partisan lightning rod, a balance that few political spouses sustain for long.
Her refusal to drop everything and fly to Dallas for the convention fits that brand. She is present in public life but not at the expense of her family's daily reality. For a party that talks constantly about putting families first, Usha Vance's "h*** no" was the most convincing proof of concept the convention could have asked for.
JD Vance, for his part, has shown a willingness to make news with unscripted candor in other settings as well. He acknowledged missteps on the Epstein files rollout earlier this year, a move that earned both criticism and grudging respect for its directness.
The convention anecdote was lighter in stakes but cut from the same cloth. Vance does not appear to rehearse his way out of awkward truths. He walks into them and bets the crowd will follow.
Strip away the humor and the convention setting, and the exchange between JD and Usha Vance reflects a straightforward argument: the people who actually raise children know what matters, and the political class that lectures about family policy from a distance often does not.
Democrats have spent years framing family policy as a question of government programs, subsidized childcare, paid leave mandates, expanded tax credits. Vance's anecdote reframed it as a question of priorities. His wife did not need a federal program to decide that staying home with a newborn mattered more than a convention appearance. She needed a husband who respected the call.
That distinction resonates with voters who are tired of being told that the answer to every household challenge is another line item in a spending bill. Sometimes the answer is simpler: be home. Do the work. Say no to the thing that can wait.
When the vice president's wife tells him she is not coming because she has four kids to handle, and the vice president repeats it to a cheering arena, the message pen itself. The family that actually lives its values does not need a slogan.
Twenty-five years after her husband died on the 104th floor of the North Tower, Terry Strada stood at Ground Zero and told Vice President JD Vance that Washington has spent a quarter-century protecting Saudi Arabia instead of its own people.
Strada, national chair of 9/11 Families United, delivered the rebuke Friday at the 25th anniversary memorial ceremony in Lower Manhattan, turning what is normally a solemn day of remembrance into a pointed demand for accountability aimed squarely at the Trump administration. Vance, the most senior administration official at the New York ceremony, listened as Strada laid out a case that successive presidents have shielded the Saudi kingdom from consequences for its alleged role in the worst terrorist attack on American soil.
Her husband, Tom Strada, was 41 years old and worked at Cantor Fitzgerald. He was on the 104th floor when American Airlines Flight 11 struck the North Tower on the morning of September 11, 2001. He called Terry after the impact and told her he was heading toward the stairwell. Days before the attacks, the couple had brought their third child home from the hospital. Tom Strada was among nearly 3,000 people killed that day at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and aboard the hijacked planes.
Terry Strada has spent the years since becoming one of the most prominent voices pushing for transparency and legal accountability. On Friday, she did not hold back about who she holds responsible, and who she believes has looked the other way.
Strada's speech went beyond grief. She accused Saudi Arabia directly of enabling the attack that killed her husband and thousands of others, Fox News Digital reported:
"The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia fomented a rancid culture of anti-American terrorism around the globe, and then sent its agents to support the radical Islamist hijackers so they could attack you and all of our loved ones."
She then turned her criticism to Washington itself, naming no single president but sweeping broadly across administrations of both parties:
"But for 25 years, administration after administration, including leaders in front of us here today, chose to protect the Saudis instead of standing with the 9/11 families."
That phrase, "including leaders in front of us here today", landed with Vance sitting in the audience. The New York Post reported that the vice president patted his heart in acknowledgment of Strada's words, and that her remarks drew applause from spectators in the crowd.
Strada closed by addressing Vance by name and asking him to carry a message back to President Trump:
"It has been one betrayal after another. President Trump can still change that. Tell the Saudis to stop lying. Tell them that if they want to be friends with the USA, they cannot continue to deny all of this."
She added:
"Vice President Vance, thank you for being here today. Please carry that message back. Stand with the families. Stand with the survivors. Stand with Americans."
President Trump spoke separately Friday at the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia. The reporting does not indicate whether he addressed Saudi Arabia in those remarks.
Strada was not the only family member to use the anniversary to press the administration. A nephew of Lisa Marie Terry, another victim, also spoke at the ceremony and directed his appeal to Trump personally. "For 25 years, the deep state has hidden the truth about what happened that day 25 years ago," he said. "President Trump, you're our last hope."
He urged the president to "release the unredacted files that implicate Saudi Arabia", a reference to classified and partially redacted government documents that 9/11 families have fought for years to obtain. The demand fits a pattern of political confrontation surrounding this year's anniversary, which has drawn sharper public rhetoric than many prior commemorations.
The legal fight Strada referenced has a long, frustrating history for the families involved. For more than a decade after the attacks, victims' relatives were barred from pursuing a lawsuit against Saudi Arabia because of sovereign immunity protections, the legal principle that foreign governments generally cannot be hauled into American courts.
That changed in September 2016, when Congress passed the Justice Against Sponsors of Terrorism Act, known as JASTA. The law allows Americans to sue foreign governments accused of providing material support for terrorist attacks on U.S. soil.
President Obama vetoed the bill. He argued the legislation went too far by threatening to strip foreign governments of immunity "based solely upon allegations by private litigants." Congress overrode his veto days later, one of the rare instances in which lawmakers from both parties defied a sitting president on a national-security matter. The families filed their lawsuit against Saudi Arabia in March 2017.
Obama's veto remains a sore point for many 9/11 families. They saw it as further evidence that diplomatic relationships with Riyadh consistently trumped accountability for the dead. That Congress overrode the veto with broad bipartisan support only underscored how far the executive branch had drifted from the public consensus on the issue.
The lawsuit has moved slowly, but it has produced at least one significant judicial finding. Last August, federal Judge George B. Daniels ruled there was "reasonable evidence" that two Saudi government employees supported two future al Qaeda hijackers who arrived in the United States in early 2000 and took flight lessons. Daniels denied Saudi Arabia's attempt to dismiss the case and allowed it to proceed.
That ruling gave the families' legal effort its strongest footing yet. A federal judge, not a politician, not an activist, examined the record and concluded that enough evidence existed to keep the case alive. Saudi Arabia has repeatedly denied the allegations, but the kingdom has not been able to shut the courthouse door.
The case remains pending. Thousands of 9/11 family members and survivors are parties to the lawsuit, as the Washington Examiner reported. For them, the 25th anniversary carried the weight of a legal battle still unresolved and government files still partially hidden.
The broader political atmosphere around this year's commemoration has been unusually charged. In recent weeks, conservative backlash has followed political figures whose actions around the anniversary struck many Americans as tone-deaf or provocative.
Terry Strada's authority on this issue does not come from a policy paper or a political career. It comes from a phone call. On the morning of September 11, 2001, her husband called from the 104th floor of the North Tower after the plane hit. He told her he was heading for the stairwell. He did not make it out.
Tom Strada was one of 658 Cantor Fitzgerald employees killed that day, the single largest loss any firm suffered. He left behind a wife and three children, the youngest only days old.
In the years since, Terry Strada has channeled that loss into a sustained campaign for answers. She has pressed multiple administrations, testified before Congress, and led 9/11 Families United as its national chair. She has been interviewed repeatedly over the years, including by WPTV on the 20th anniversary of the attacks, about her husband's death and the families' ongoing fight.
Amid rising concerns about hate-fueled violence in New York City and persistent questions about how American leaders handle foreign policy when it collides with domestic accountability, Strada's speech Friday cut through the diplomatic fog with a simple demand: pick a side.
Several open questions hang over the families' fight. The current status of the lawsuit beyond "pending" remains unclear. Whether the Trump administration will act on Strada's plea, or whether Vance will relay the message, is unknown. Saudi Arabia's specific response to Friday's speech has not been reported. And the classified files the families want released remain, for now, out of public view.
What is clear is that 25 years after the deadliest terrorist attack in American history, the families of the victims are still waiting. They waited through sovereign immunity. They waited through a presidential veto. They waited through years of litigation. They waited through a federal judge's finding that evidence of Saudi government involvement was strong enough to keep the case alive. And they are still waiting.
Strada's speech Friday was not a plea for sympathy. It was a demand, directed at the vice president of the United States, in front of the nation, on sacred ground, that this administration do what none before it has done: choose the families over the kingdom. International diplomatic friction is nothing new for this White House, and the families are betting that a president who ran on putting America first will not flinch when the test involves an ally.
Nearly 3,000 Americans died on September 11, 2001. Their families have spent a quarter-century asking their own government to stop running interference for the country they believe helped make it happen. At some point, "stand with the families" stops being a request and starts being a verdict on whoever refuses.
A 24-year-old Honduran illegal immigrant allegedly broke into a Polk County, Florida, home before dawn and sexually battered a 77-year-old woman, and now faces charges elevated under state law because of his immigration status.
Axel Antonio Espinal Herrera was arrested after the victim contacted the Polk County Sheriff's Office early Saturday morning, August 30. Detectives canvassed the neighborhood, found Herrera in a nearby home, in the shower, and matched him to the victim's description. Clothing she described was recovered inside the residence, and multiple scratches on Herrera's body were consistent with her account, Fox News Digital reported.
Sheriff Grady Judd did not hold back when he addressed the case publicly the following day.
"Sexual battery of an individual is without a doubt one of the most horrific crimes that occurs. And a violent, out-of-control sexual battery on a stranger even elevates that one more level. And then you take on top of that the suspect is in this country illegally, that pushes it over the top."
The sheriff's office laid out a grim sequence of events. The 77-year-old woman was asleep in her Polk County home when she awoke to a noise around 4 a.m. An unknown man had entered her bedroom. He forcibly removed her clothing and sexually battered her, then slapped her when she tried to get away.
She attempted to escape through the front door while Herrera went into the bathroom. He chased her, dragged her back inside, and choked her.
Only after Herrera eventually left the scene did the victim manage to reach the sheriff's office. Detectives moved quickly, canvassing the surrounding area and locating Herrera in a house nearby. Two other illegal immigrants from Honduras were also inside that home.
Herrera was taken to the sheriff's processing center. He was found in possession of cocaine.
The charges filed against him are extensive: kidnapping, sexual battery by force, burglary and battery, tampering with evidence, possession of cocaine, possession of drug paraphernalia, and loitering and prowling. Under Florida law, every one of those charges is elevated by one category because Herrera is an illegal immigrant, a provision that opens the door to multiple life sentences upon conviction.
Violent criminal cases tied to individuals who should not have been in the country at all continue to draw national attention. In a separate recent incident, a National Guardsman was arrested for allegedly pulling a gun on a fellow soldier in Washington, D.C., a reminder that breakdowns in accountability take many forms.
Sheriff Judd posted a video to X detailing the alleged assault and made clear he views the case through two lenses, the brutality of the crime itself and the fact that it was committed by someone who had no legal right to be in the United States.
Judd described Herrera as "a very violent, very dangerous" suspect whose alleged actions were "graphically very vile and out of control." He voiced frustration that the assault could not have occurred if Herrera had not been in the country in the first place.
He then framed the age gap between suspect and victim in the starkest terms:
"He was a young man, 24 years of age, sexually battering a 77-year-old woman after he broke into her house in the middle of the night. Do I need to say more?"
Judd promised that his office's goal is to ensure Herrera spends the rest of his life in a United States prison upon conviction.
Criminal schemes that exploit or harm vulnerable victims have become a recurring theme in recent headlines. Federal authorities recently arrested a man who allegedly posed as an NFL player to defraud 26 women of more than a million dollars, a different kind of predation, but one that underscores how often the justice system is left cleaning up after people who exploit others' trust.
The Polk County Sheriff's Office notified U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement after the arrest. ICE placed a detainer on Herrera, meaning federal authorities have flagged him for potential deportation proceedings in addition to the state criminal charges he faces.
The two other illegal immigrants from Honduras found in the nearby home were also taken into custody on ICE holds. The sheriff's office did not publicly identify them, and it remains unclear whether they face any charges beyond the immigration detainers.
Several key questions remain unanswered. How and when did Herrera enter the United States? Did he have any prior criminal record? What is the current condition of the 77-year-old victim? The sheriff's office has not publicly addressed those points.
International criminal cases involving serious charges have also drawn scrutiny in recent weeks. In Australia, a British actress was charged in connection with an alleged $208 million meth smuggling scheme, another case where authorities allege a suspect operated far outside the law in a country where they had no business committing crimes.
Florida's statute allowing charge elevation based on a defendant's illegal immigration status is central to the prosecution's leverage in this case. Each of Herrera's charges moves up one category, meaning offenses that might otherwise carry fixed prison terms now carry the possibility of life behind bars. The specific statute was not identified in the sheriff's public statements, but the practical effect is clear: if convicted, Herrera faces a far harsher sentence than a lawful resident would for the same crimes.
That legal mechanism exists precisely for cases like this one. A man who had no right to be in the country allegedly committed one of the most violent crimes on the books against one of the most vulnerable victims imaginable. Florida law treats that combination as an aggravating factor, and Sheriff Judd made plain he intends to use every tool the statute provides.
When a 77-year-old woman cannot sleep safely in her own home because the people responsible for securing the border failed to keep a violent offender out of the country, the system has not just broken down, it has failed the one person it exists to protect.
A National Guard member deployed to Washington, D.C., was arrested after allegedly drawing a firearm on a fellow guardsman during an argument about whether their hairstyles met Army regulations, an incident that raises pointed questions about discipline among the thousands of troops stationed in the capital.
Zion Mitchell got into a verbal dispute with a female guardsman on Aug. 25 while both sat inside a black van during a break from patrol, ABC News reported. Court documents filed in D.C. Superior Court describe the confrontation escalating quickly from words to what witnesses say was a drawn weapon.
The affidavit states that during the argument, Mitchell said "something to the effect of" a threat to the female guardsman, words that ended with the unnamed victim telling Mitchell to "shut the f--- up." What happened next is where the accounts split, and where the case turns serious.
A third guardsman, identified in court filings only as Witness 1, was also inside the van. The affidavit recounts that at one point, Witness 1 looked up and saw Mitchell "pointing his firearm in the direction of Victim 1 over Witness 1's shoulder." The witness told Mitchell directly:
"Put that up. You almost shot me in the hand."
The victim, for her part, told investigators she heard a "holster click" during the argument, a detail consistent with a weapon being drawn from its holster. She was later told that Mitchell had allegedly pointed the firearm at her.
Mitchell offered a different version of events. He told detectives he had pulled a pistol magazine out of his vest pocket and pointed it at the woman "as part of the playful banter." He did not claim to have drawn a firearm. That conflict, weapon or magazine, threat or joke, sits at the center of the case and remains unresolved in the court record.
The dispute that started it all was not about tactics, orders, or anything related to the mission. It was about hair. Specifically, whether their hairstyles complied with Army grooming regulations. The court documents do not detail which regulations were at issue or whose hair was in question.
Washington has seen its share of high-profile arrests near the capital's landmarks in recent months, but an armed confrontation between two members of the same deployed unit stands apart. This was not a clash with protesters or criminals. It was a guardsman allegedly threatening a fellow soldier.
Mitchell was arrested and held in custody "due to the nature of the crimes," the court documents state. The specific charges filed against him have not been publicly detailed. He appeared for a preliminary hearing but did not enter a plea. His next court date is scheduled for Sept. 15.
Mitchell's attorney did not respond to ABC News' request for comment. The National Guard also did not immediately respond to a request for comment.
The silence from the Guard is notable. Roughly 3,100 guardsmen are currently deployed to the capital, down from a peak of about 5,000 during a summer surge tied to America's 250th anniversary celebrations. President Trump ordered the deployment of thousands of National Guard troops to Washington in August 2025 as part of his "Make DC Safe and Beautiful" campaign.
That initiative was designed to restore order and maintain a visible security presence in a city that has struggled with crime and public safety concerns. The deployment put Guard members on patrol across the District, a mission that demands discipline, composure, and professionalism, qualities the allegations against Mitchell call directly into question.
Incidents of criminal conduct by individuals entrusted with public responsibilities carry extra weight. When a uniformed service member allegedly threatens a colleague with a weapon over a grooming argument, it does not just reflect on that individual. It reflects on the chain of command that put him there.
Mitchell's defense, at least so far, rests on his claim that the object in his hand was a magazine, not a gun, and that the exchange was lighthearted. But the witness account in the affidavit describes something different: a firearm pointed in the direction of a fellow soldier, close enough to endanger a bystander's hand. The victim's report of a holster click adds a second data point that cuts against the "playful banter" explanation.
Whether prosecutors can prove the weapon was drawn will likely determine the outcome. The Sept. 15 hearing may shed more light on the formal charges and the evidence the government intends to present.
The broader context matters. Thousands of Guard members have served in Washington without incident, and the deployment has been part of a visible effort to maintain safety around the capital's public spaces. One arrest does not define the mission. But it does demand accountability, from the individual, from his command, and from the institutions responsible for vetting and supervising armed personnel in the nation's capital.
The court documents paint a picture that is hard to square with any definition of acceptable conduct. An argument about haircuts. A threat referencing the Jackson 5. A witness who says she saw a gun. And a suspect who says it was all a joke.
Serious operations require serious people. When someone deployed to protect the capital allegedly turns a weapon on a comrade over a grooming dispute, the system that put a firearm in that person's hands owes the public an explanation, not silence.
Long Realty ended its affiliation with a Tucson agent after his arrest tied to alleged disorder aboard an American Airlines flight, citing firm standards.
13 News reported that Layne Arthur Lundeen, 67, was arrested following alleged disorderly conduct aboard the commercial flight. Long Realty later cut ties with him.
The company said Lundeen no longer represents Long Realty in any capacity. The decision carried a clear message: conduct affecting passengers and crew can bring consequences beyond the criminal justice system.
The New York Post reported that Lundeen allegedly directed racial and anti-gay slurs at passengers and crew. He was restrained with duct tape and zip ties, and the flight diverted to Baltimore.
The Post also reported that authorities charged Lundeen with second-degree assault and disorderly conduct. The FBI was considering whether to pursue federal charges.
Long Realty said it acted promptly after learning about the incident. Its statement referred to Lundeen as a former affiliated agent and stressed that he could no longer act for the company.
The company stated:
“Long Realty is aware of reports concerning criminal charges filed against a former affiliated real estate agent arising from an incident that allegedly occurred during a commercial flight. Upon learning of the incident, Long Realty promptly ended its affiliation with the individual. The individual is no longer associated with or authorized to represent Long Realty in any capacity.”
Long Realty then addressed the conduct described in the reports. It tied its decision to the standards expected from people affiliated with the business.
“The conduct described in the reports is wholly inconsistent with the professionalism, integrity, compassion, and respect for others that Long Realty expects from those affiliated with the company. We expect those associated with our company to uphold those values, and we have no tolerance for conduct that so clearly falls short of those expectations. Our focus remains on serving our clients and community in accordance with our values.”
The company closed with a brief statement of concern for those aboard the flight.
“Our thoughts are with the passengers, crew members and others affected by this incident.”
Key facts remain unanswered. The local report did not identify the date of the flight, its route or the agency that arrested Lundeen. It also did not provide details about how the arrest unfolded.
No conviction was identified. That distinction matters: an arrest and criminal charges are serious, but courts determine guilt.
An employer, however, does not need to ignore alleged conduct that may damage its clients, workers or public trust. Long Realty reviewed what had been reported and ended the business relationship.
Accountability and due process can stand together. Companies may defend their standards while the justice system settles criminal allegations through evidence and law.
Fox News cut ties with Maria Bartiromo, its highest-profile business anchor for more than a decade, after she reportedly shared a confidential internal directive with senior White House officials, a move the network treated as a fireable breach of trust.
The chain of events, first reported by Puck News correspondent Dylan Byers on Thursday evening, centers on a story Bartiromo was pursuing about China and alleged election meddling in the 2020 presidential race. When a Fox Business executive texted producers directing them to squash that coverage, Bartiromo screenshotted the message and sent it to officials inside the Trump White House. The White House then called Fox executives, and that call is how the network discovered the leak, the Daily Caller reported.
Fox pulled Bartiromo off the air on August 9. She was fired shortly after her final appearance, though the network waited weeks before making the departure public. On September 3, Fox News Media issued a terse statement confirming the split.
Bartiromo spent 13 years at Fox, anchoring three programs: "Mornings with Maria," "Maria Bartiromo's Wall Street," and "Sunday Morning Futures." All three will now rotate through substitute anchors, the New York Post reported. The network's public statement was brief and formulaic: "We thank Maria for her work over the last 12-and-a-half years and wish her all the best on her next chapter."
Patrick Ignozzi, Bartiromo's executive producer, was also let go after the network's announcement Thursday. Byers described claims and stories surrounding election integrity as a "major sensitivity for the network given its Dominion and Smartmatic lawsuits", a context that helps explain why Fox management moved to shut down the China and 2020 election coverage Bartiromo wanted to air.
The specifics of Bartiromo's story remain unclear. Neither the Daily Caller nor the Puck News report detailed what evidence she had gathered or what precise claims about Chinese election meddling she intended to broadcast. The identity of the Fox Business executive who sent the directive to kill the story has not been disclosed.
President Trump publicly defended Bartiromo after the news broke, warning that her fans "will not be happy" with Fox's decision. Vice President JD Vance offered warmer words without criticizing the network directly.
Vance called Bartiromo "an amazing person, amazing talent," adding: "Whatever she does, look, she's gonna do great, and I wish her all the best. She's a very, very dear friend."
A more detailed account of the leaked text emerged from White House adviser Peter Navarro, who told Just The News that Bartiromo sent him a screenshot of an internal Fox communication. That communication, Navarro said, showed Fox executives directing staff not to promote a Trump speech on election security and not to cover 2020 election topics.
Navarro was blunt about what he believed happened next. He said Fox retaliated against Bartiromo after the White House expressed displeasure over the network's decision to suppress coverage of the president's address.
"This is unconscionable. I did what duty required. I received information that Fox and Suzanne Scott were censoring a major speech and I passed it on."
Navarro added a pointed comparison between himself and the fired anchor: "Her problem with Fox is that she's fearless and reports the story. My problem with Fox is that I'm fearless and tell the story."
One important distinction surfaced in the Just The News account: Bartiromo has been permanently removed from Fox airwaves, but she has not technically been terminated from her contract. She remains under agreement through 2029 and will continue to be paid. That arrangement, off the air but still on the payroll, resembles the limbo Fox has used with other high-profile departures.
The pattern is hard to miss. Fox previously parted ways with Tucker Carlson, Lou Dobbs, and Bill O'Reilly under circumstances that caught audiences off guard. Newsmax noted that Bartiromo's ouster reinforced a recurring dynamic: even the network's biggest conservative stars are expendable when corporate interests are at stake.
Media commentator Yashar Ali framed the lesson in stark terms:
"Maria Bartiromo has learned a lesson that others at Fox News have learned over the years: the patience of the Murdochs is not unlimited, and while they may be conservative and align with Trump in many areas, their ultimate loyalty is only to themselves and their own interests."
Fox's sensitivity around election-related coverage has a price tag. In 2023, Fox Corporation agreed to pay Dominion Voting Systems $787 million to settle a defamation lawsuit over stolen-election claims aired on the network. Bartiromo's broadcasts were prominently featured in Dominion's case.
Smartmatic USA Corporation filed its own defamation lawsuit against Fox in February 2021, initially seeking $2.7 billion. Fox told the Daily Caller in 2024 that Smartmatic had been forced to cut its damage claims from $1.7 billion to $370 million after Smartmatic settled separately with Newsmax. The Smartmatic case against Fox remains ongoing with no trial date set.
Fox's 2024 statement to the Daily Caller took an aggressive posture on the Smartmatic litigation, noting that the company's president and co-founder, along with one current and one former executive, had been federally indicted for bribery related to business operations in the Philippines. Fox called Smartmatic's claims "unsupported by the facts and intended to chill First Amendment freedoms."
But the financial and legal exposure from these lawsuits created a clear institutional incentive: avoid election-integrity stories that could create new liability. Bartiromo's China and 2020 election reporting ran directly into that incentive. The Fox executive's text telling producers to drop the story fits a pattern of editorial risk management driven by courtroom consequences rather than journalistic judgment. The network that once gave its anchors wide latitude on election claims now treats those same topics as corporate hazards.
Navarro's account suggests Fox's reluctance to cover election-machine topics stems directly from paying hundreds of millions in defamation settlements to voting-machine companies. Whether or not Bartiromo's specific China story had merit, the network's reflexive move to suppress it, and then to punish the anchor who objected, raises a straightforward question about who Fox is serving: its audience or its legal department.
The episode also highlights a tension that has been building across Trump's broader political orbit, where allies and media figures who push too far on certain topics sometimes find themselves on the outside looking in. Bartiromo's case is different, she was not breaking with Trump but rather acting on his behalf, at least in Navarro's telling. Fox punished her anyway.
Bartiromo has retained Bryan Freedman, an entertainment lawyer known for representing high-profile media figures in disputes with networks. Freedman previously represented Megyn Kelly after NBC News fired her in 2018. No lawsuit or legal action from Bartiromo has been announced, but the hiring signals she is preparing for a potential fight over the terms of her departure.
Speculation about Bartiromo's next move has already begun. The New York Post reported that some observers floated the idea of Bartiromo becoming White House press secretary, a notion Vance publicly dismissed. Whatever her next chapter, she leaves Fox with a 13-year track record and a loyal audience that watched her become one of the network's most recognizable faces.
The political dynamics around the firing continue to shift as figures across the Trump administration weigh in. Vance's careful public comments, praising Bartiromo warmly while avoiding direct criticism of Fox, reflect the balancing act facing administration figures who depend on the network for favorable coverage but watched it sideline one of their strongest allies on air.
Several questions remain unanswered. What did Bartiromo's China and 2020 election story actually contain? Which Fox Business executive ordered it killed, and on whose authority? Did Fox conduct any internal review of the story's merits before shutting it down? And if the network's editorial decisions are now being shaped primarily by lawsuit exposure rather than news value, what does that mean for the conservative audience that still trusts Fox to cover stories other outlets will not touch?
A network that pays $787 million because its anchors said too much about elections, and then fires an anchor for trying to say anything at all, has stopped making editorial decisions. It is making legal ones, and its viewers deserve to know the difference.
Former Senator Kyrsten Sinema must defend herself in North Carolina against civil claims that she knowingly helped break up a marriage, after a federal judge found enough evidence to allow the lawsuit to proceed, an outcome Sinema’s legal team had fought to avoid.
U.S. District Judge David A. Bragdon denied Sinema’s motion to dismiss the lawsuit brought by Heather Ammel, who alleges Sinema pursued a romantic relationship with her then-husband, Matthew Ammel, while he was both on Sinema’s security team and still married. Judge Bragdon ruled that Sinema’s contacts with North Carolina, specifically, nine messages sent to Matthew Ammel while he was present in the state, were sufficient to establish jurisdiction, allowing the case to move forward under North Carolina’s so-called “homewrecker” law. Fox News Digital reported.
The ruling highlights North Carolina’s unusual legal landscape, where a spouse can sue a third party for “alienation of affection” if they believe their marriage was sabotaged by an outsider. While most states have abolished such claims, North Carolina law still allows them. Heather Ammel’s complaint describes her marriage as a “good and loving marriage” with “genuine love and affection” before Sinema allegedly interfered. The New York Post noted that the texting trail played a central role in Judge Bragdon’s decision, as those communications linked Sinema’s actions directly to the state and the Ammel home.
Sinema, a former U.S. senator from Arizona, had argued through her attorneys that she could not be sued in North Carolina because she lacked a “meaningful connection” to the state. Her legal team, led by Steven Epstein, filed a motion to dismiss on the grounds that any alleged romantic conduct or communications took place outside North Carolina. “Because Defendant’s conduct related to her romantic relationship with Mr. Ammel does not connect her to North Carolina in a meaningful way, jurisdiction over her in this action does not comport with due process,” Sinema’s legal filing stated, as the Washington Examiner reported.
But Judge Bragdon found that the nine text messages and other communications Sinema sent to Matthew Ammel while he was physically present at his family home in North Carolina were enough to satisfy the state’s requirements for jurisdiction. The judge wrote that Sinema was “invading the marriage not just while he was away on trips with her” but also while Ammel was home with his family. Newsmax described the ruling as a rebuke to Sinema’s efforts to evade the state’s reach.
Sinema’s attorneys did not immediately respond to Fox News Digital’s requests for comment after the decision. The ruling means the lawsuit, filed by the scorned spouse, will now proceed toward trial, barring a settlement or further successful legal maneuvering.
Heather Ammel’s complaint alleges that Sinema began pursuing her husband after he joined Sinema’s security team in 2022, following his retirement from the U.S. Army. The complaint says Matthew Ammel traveled with Sinema domestically and internationally, and that he stopped wearing his wedding ring and accepted a position as a national security fellow in Sinema’s Senate office during the summer of 2024. Heather Ammel discovered the alleged affair in early 2024 after reading nine messages Sinema sent her husband while he was at home in North Carolina.
Sinema herself admitted, in a deposition given in Raleigh, North Carolina, that she and Matthew Ammel’s relationship turned sexual around Memorial Day 2024. “We were staying at an Airbnb in [Napa, California.] We were outside. Matt kissed me. We went inside and had sex,” Sinema testified. She further acknowledged having sexual encounters with Ammel in New York, Washington, Colorado, and Arizona, but not North Carolina. Just The News reported that Sinema’s own testimony undercut her jurisdictional argument, even as she maintained the relationship did not extend physically into North Carolina itself.
The timeline outlined in public filings and Sinema’s deposition shows that the Ammels’ marriage unraveled quickly after the affair came to light. The couple separated on November 1, 2024, and their divorce was finalized in March 2026. Heather Ammel is reportedly seeking at least $75,000 in damages.
North Carolina is one of the few states where a spouse can sue a third party for damages under an alienation-of-affection claim. Judge Bragdon’s ruling found that Sinema’s messages and pursuit of a romantic relationship with a married man in North Carolina was enough for the case to proceed. As AP News summarized, “She can be sued” under North Carolina’s homewrecker law, and the court found that the facts alleged, if proven, may meet the state’s standards.
This kind of legal exposure is not unique to Sinema. High-profile personal scandals and the legal risks that come with them have affected other public officials, as seen in the recent Nashville officer resignation over an exposed on-duty affair. But Sinema’s case is likely to draw extra scrutiny because of her status as a former U.S. senator, her public prominence, and the unusual persistence of North Carolina’s law.
Judge Bragdon’s written opinion emphasized that the digital trail Sinema left, nine messages to Ammel while he was at home, was not incidental. In the judge’s view, this evidence showed Sinema was furthering a romantic relationship and “invading” the marriage even while Ammel was physically present with his family. The ruling does not resolve the ultimate question of liability but sets the stage for a full airing of the facts in a North Carolina court.
Sinema’s legal team is expected to defend against the allegations vigorously, insisting that the relationship was largely conducted outside the state. But the court’s decision makes clear that, in North Carolina, digital contact and the emotional impact of an affair can be enough to open the courthouse doors to a deeply personal dispute.
Whatever the outcome, Sinema’s efforts to avoid public and legal scrutiny have now failed at this stage. For public officials, and those who serve under them, this case is a reminder that actions have consequences that go beyond the headlines and into the courtroom.
In a country where laws and standards still matter, even the powerful must answer for the messes they make in private, and in public.
A worker died after a support apparatus failed and a tour bus collapsed on him at Wolf Trap National Park for the Performing Arts in Virginia, forcing the venue to cancel that evening's sold-out Squeeze concert.
U.S. Park Police responded to a parking lot adjacent to the historic Virginia venue at 5 p.m. on September 3, 2026. Officers found the man pinned beneath the tour bus. A supporting apparatus, the type and condition of which authorities have not disclosed, had given way, bringing the full weight of the bus down on the worker while he was underneath it. He did not survive. Fox News Digital reported that Park Police have not released the man's identity.
The English rock band Squeeze had been scheduled to take the stage at 7:30 p.m., just two and a half hours after first responders arrived. Wolf Trap canceled the show within hours of the death.
The venue posted a brief statement on Facebook: "There was an accident involving a member of the community at Wolf Trap National Park. Out of respect, tonight's show has been canceled." The post offered no further detail about what happened or who the worker was.
Park Police have not said whether the man was a member of Squeeze's touring crew or an employee of a third-party contractor. They have not identified the tour bus operator. No information has been released about the condition or maintenance history of the apparatus that failed.
Concertgoers who had already gathered in the parking lot watched the response unfold in real time. Debbie Daniel, a fan who had come for the show, told FOX 5 DC what she saw:
"It was horrible when we found out that happened. We saw the emergency vehicles come in, figured something serious had happened because there was like 15 or more vehicles. But, yeah, it was very tragic."
Some fans left immediately. Many stayed, lingering in the lot as word spread about the nature of the accident. Eric Anderson, another concertgoer, said the cancellation was the only reasonable call.
"Especially from what we're starting to understand about the circumstances, the show can't go on. And we understand that."
Anderson's remark pointed to something the official statements did not address directly, the severity of the scene itself. Fifteen emergency vehicles do not roll for a minor mishap. The scale of the response told the crowd what the venue's carefully worded Facebook post did not.
Fatal workplace accidents, whether at concert venues, construction sites, or airfields, raise immediate questions about equipment maintenance and oversight. A recent fatal plane crash near Bowie, Maryland drew similar scrutiny about the circumstances leading to preventable deaths.
The band issued a statement to Rolling Stone shortly after the cancellation. It struck a somber tone but shed no light on the worker's identity or employment relationship to the tour:
"Squeeze are deeply saddened and shocked by an incident that occurred at the venue earlier today, which resulted in the loss of a life. We will work with the promoter and venue regarding the possibility of rescheduling the show and will communicate further information to ticket holders as soon as it is available. Our thoughts remain with everyone affected by this tragic event."
The statement referenced a promoter but did not name the company. It did not say whether the deceased was part of the band's own crew or worked for the venue, the bus operator, or another contractor. That distinction matters, it determines which employer bore responsibility for the equipment the man was working under when it failed.
The New York Post confirmed the same core details: the apparatus failure at approximately 5 p.m., the worker's death beneath the bus, and the cancellation of the 7:30 p.m. Squeeze performance.
Squeeze, known for hits like "Tempted" and "Black Coffee in Bed," has toured extensively for more than four decades. Glenn Tilbrook and the rest of the band were set to perform at Wolf Trap's outdoor amphitheater, a federally owned venue operated by the National Park Service. That federal jurisdiction means U.S. Park Police, not local law enforcement, handle investigations on the grounds.
Neither the Park Police statement nor the venue's social media post mentioned whether any formal investigation has been opened beyond the initial police response. The Occupational Safety and Health Administration typically has authority to investigate workplace fatalities, but because Wolf Trap sits on National Park Service land, jurisdictional questions could complicate or delay that process.
The type of "supporting apparatus" that failed has not been described publicly. Tour buses are routinely raised on jacks or stabilizing systems for maintenance and mechanical work. Equipment failure during such work, whether from worn hydraulics, improperly rated jacks, or neglected maintenance, has caused fatalities in other industries. Without details from Park Police, the public cannot assess whether this death resulted from a freak mechanical failure or from a preventable lapse in safety standards.
Not every accident ends in death. In one case last year, all eleven passengers survived a floatplane crash and fire near Washington state's San Juan Islands. The difference between survival and fatality often comes down to the condition of the equipment and the protocols in place before something goes wrong.
Wolf Trap National Park for the Performing Arts is the only national park dedicated to the performing arts. It hosts dozens of concerts, operas, and events each summer season. A worker dying on its grounds, on federal property, under a tour bus, hours before a show, raises questions that a two-sentence Facebook post cannot answer.
When high-profile deaths occur under murky circumstances, the fight for accountability can drag on for years. The estate battle following the death of Zappos founder Tony Hsieh showed how long it can take for the full picture to emerge after a sudden, tragic loss.
Park Police have not released the worker's name. His family has not spoken publicly. The promoter has not been identified. The bus operator has not been named. The apparatus that failed has not been described. No agency has announced an investigation.
What is known fits in a single paragraph: a man was working underneath a tour bus in a parking lot near one of Virginia's most prominent concert venues. Something holding the bus up gave way. The bus came down. He died. The concert was canceled.
Concertgoers went home without a show. A worker did not go home at all. The people responsible for the equipment that failed owe the public, and that man's family, a full accounting of what went wrong and why.