Chapter 10 - The Formal Gathering
I walked down the center aisle.
I was no longer wearing the soaked clothes from the morning. Colonel Vance had provided me with a crisp, tailored black suit. My hair was pulled back tightly into a bun, leaving my left cheek entirely visible—the deep, ugly, purple-and-black bruise carved across my face for every high-ranking officer and senator in that room to see.
Flanking me on either side were four heavily armed agents from the United States Army Criminal Investigation Division (CID), their gold badges gleaming against their tactical vests. Behind them walked Colonel Robert Vance, carrying a heavy leather briefcase.
The silence that fell over the auditorium was absolute.
My mother’s glass slipped from her hand, shattering against the carpeted floor—an exact mirror of my bourbon from the night before. Her face drained of all color, her jaw hanging slack in utter disbelief.
Austin backed away from the podium, his hands trembling violently. “Security! Security, what is this? Arrest her!”
My father lunged toward the aisle, his face purple with explosive fury. “Claire! How dare you show your face here! Officers, detain this woman! She is under active psychological suspension for espionage!”
The CID agents didn't flinch. They formed an impenetrable wall of Kevlar and steel between my father and me.
Special Agent Miller, the lead investigator, stepped forward and held up a federal warrant signed by the Chief Judge of the United States Court of Appeals for the Armed Forces.
“Stand down, General Mercer,” Miller commanded, his voice cutting through the room like a broadsword. “Do not interfere with federal officers executing a congressional subpoena.”
“A subpoena?” my father roared, his fists shaking at his sides. “I am a three-star general! I sit on the Joint Advisory Board! Who authorized this circus?”
“I did, General,” Senator Albright said from the stage, his face like carved granite.
Albright stepped away from the podium. He didn't look at Austin. He looked at me, giving a solemn, respectful nod.
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“Miss Mercer,” Albright said into the live microphone, his voice echoing across the Pentagon briefing room and broadcasting directly to the closed-circuit Pentagon network. “The floor is yours.”
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