Chapter 4 - The General's Call
Three seconds later, a voice boomed from the speaker of Marcus’s handset. It was a voice known to anyone who watched national defense hearings on television: General Arthur Vance, Chairman of the Joint Special Operations Oversight Council.
*"Marcus? By God, man, your transponder hasn't pinged the network since 2018. Where the hell are you?"*
Marcus kept his eyes locked on Julian Beaumont. "I’m in Beaumont County, Arthur. At the Beaumont Country Club. My daughter is here. And a local civilian cartel led by Julian Beaumont has threatened her safety and attempted to usurp classified defense research."
On the other end of the line, the general’s tone turned dead and terrifyingly lethal.
*"Classified defense research? Claire's coagulant matrix? That project is flagged under Title 50 National Security Priority, Marcus. Did these idiots try to steal military-contracted intellectual property?"*
Claire gasped softly behind Marcus. She looked from the phone to her father. She had never known why DARPA had granted her company funding so easily, or why federal inspectors had cleared her laboratory permits overnight. It hadn't been luck. It had been her father's unseen hand, shielding her dreams from the shadows.
"They did," Marcus answered calmly. "Julian Beaumont claims he owns the local police, the regional telecommunications, and the judicial district. His son assaulted Claire physically."
A rustle of papers and rapid keyboard typing echoed through the phone.
*"Stand by, Marcus. Initiating Directive 90-Bravo. The President has been briefed on your reactivation trigger. Beaumont's offshore accounts, corporate shielding, and private assets are being frozen under the Patriot Act this second. The 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment out of Fort Campbell was already airborne for training exercises ninety miles east of you. They are redirected. ETA eight minutes."*
General Vance paused, his voice ice-cold.
*"Authorize lethal force at your sole discretion, Specter-Six. Clear the room if you must."*
Marcus tapped the red screen and ended the call.
The entire ballroom was paralyzed. The high-society guests—CEOs, judges, local politicians, and heiresses—stood with their mouths open, their champagne glasses trembling.
Julian Beaumont’s hands were shaking visibly. He reached into his pocket, furiously dialing his lead attorney on his gold-trimmed iPhone.
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"Service unavailable," a robotic automated voice blared from Julian's phone. "Network restricted by Federal Emergency Directive."
"What did you do?" Julian yelled, his polished exterior shattering into blind hysteria. "What the hell did you just do?!"
