PART 2: Navy SEAL Punched the Wrong Woman in the Mess Hall—Then an Admiral Walked In With Her Sealed Orders

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on an examination table in the base medical clinic.

The corpsman had wrapped my ribs in tight compression bandages and glued the split on my lower lip shut with surgical adhesive. The pain was still a deep, throbbing ache, but the adrenaline had finally receded, leaving behind a cold, sharp focus.

The door to the exam room opened, and Admiral Vance walked in alone.

He closed the door firmly behind him, leaned his back against it, and let out a long, heavy breath that wiped away the stoic commander persona.

"You look terrible, Maya," he said quietly.

"Thanks, Dad," I replied, offering a faint, painful smirk. "Good to see you too."

He walked over and placed a warm, heavy hand on my shoulder, careful not to press against my injured ribs. "Did you have to let him hit you?"

"I didn't let him hit me," I protested. "I was watching his contact near the loading dock through the window when he came out of nowhere. The guy was faster than I anticipated. And once he swung, I knew if I drew my sidearm in a crowded chow hall, someone would get caught in the crossfire."

Vance nodded slowly. "You handled it well. The surveillance feed from the galley is already in the hands of the Judge Advocate General. Reed is going away for thirty years. Wire fraud, grand larceny of military ordnance, and aggravated assault on a superior officer."

"What about the shipment to Sonora?" I asked, looking up at him. "Did we stop the van?"

The warmth drained from my father’s face.

He didn't answer immediately. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a second envelope—smaller, thinner, and sealed with a black wax stamp bearing an insignia I hadn't seen in three years.