Chapter 3 - The Sealed Dispatch
Arthur took half a step backward, his polished facade cracking in real time. His eyes darted from Holloway’s cold stare to my coat, where the subdued eagle of a full colonel rested against the dark fabric.
"Director?" Julian stammered, his voice cracking slightly. "Bio-Defense? That’s... that’s impossible. She’s been doing field clinics in Germany. She gives routine vaccinations to recruits!"
"Your sister hasn't treated a recruit since 2014, Mr. Vance," Holloway said with utter contempt. "She’s pulled surgical teams out of contested hot zones in the Levant, the Horn of Africa, and three locations that do not legally exist. If you actually bothered to read classified defense appropriations instead of just billing us for substandard titanium plating, you might have known that."
A few junior defense contractors standing near the buffet line quickly looked at their shoes, desperate to pretend they hadn't heard an active-duty general accuse the Vance patriarch of corporate corruption.
Arthur quickly recovered, clearing his throat and forcing his posture back into dominant alignment. "Whatever her rank, this is a family matter. My father passed from natural heart failure at eighty-four. We appreciate the military presence, Marcus, but Vance Industries will handle the funeral and the estate execution from here. Clarissa, you can step outside and let the adults—"
"I am not here for Vance Industries, Arthur," Holloway interrupted cleanly.
The aide-de-camp behind Holloway stepped forward. In his hands was a sleek, matte-black Pelican case secured with biometric latches and wrapped in a tamper-evident crimson wire seal bearing the insignia of the Department of the Army Inspector General.
"General Vance passed this to the Pentagon courier six hours before his heart stopped," Holloway said, turning his back on Arthur entirely. He signaled to his aide, who presented the case directly to me. "Your grandfather left explicit, legally binding instructions under National Security Directive 47. It was to be delivered exclusively into your hands, Colonel. No intermediaries. No family representatives. And specifically—under no circumstances—was it to touch the hands of Arthur Vance."
Arthur lunged forward, his composure shattering entirely. "That belongs to the family estate! I am the executor of his last will and testament! Give that to me!"
Before Arthur’s manicured fingers could graze the handle, Holloway’s two security escorts shifted their weight. The sound of their sidearms shifting in their holsters was subtle, but Arthur froze dead in his tracks.
"Touch this case, Mr. Vance," one of the escorts said quietly, "and you will be detained under Title 10 federal jurisdiction for attempting to seize classified defense materials."
Julian looked terrified now. He grabbed his father’s elbow, trying to pull him back. "Dad... Dad, stop. Look at the room."
The entire room of high-society elites, politicians, and corporate executives was watching Arthur Vance be publicly castrated by the very military establishment he claimed to control.
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I looked down at the black case. On the top panel, an analog thumbprint scanner blinked with a slow, rhythmic green pulse. Beside it, etched in steel, was my grandfather's distinct personal motto: *Duty before Blood.*
"Colonel Vance," Holloway said, his voice dropping into a solemn tone. "The General's final message was verbal, passed along with the courier key. He said to tell you: *'The house is rotten from the foundation up. Cut the rot out before they sell the bedrock.'*"
