Chapter 6 - The Salute That Shook the Room
Every military member in the room instinctively snapped to the position of attention. Heels clicked together like rifle cracks across the polished marble.
General Warren Pike stood frozen on the stage, his hand still awkwardly half-raised. He stared at General Vance in utter bewilderment. A four-star general did not call a room to attention for another four-star, nor for a base commander.
There was only one reason Vance would bark that command.
Someone senior to the room was entering. But who could be senior to the Vice Chief of Staff of the Army?
From the shadowed entryway, the steady, rhythmic click of low-heeled military shoes echoed across the floor.
A figure stepped into the glare of the ballroom chandeliers.
The air vanished from Mason Rourke’s lungs.
The woman walking down the carpet was not wearing a soaked, off-the-rack department store suit. She was not hunched. She was not looking down.
I wore the pristine, midnight-blue Army Service Uniform of a General Officer. Down the outer seams of my trousers ran the distinctive double gold braid. On my shoulders, the two silver stars of a Major General gleamed under the crystal lights. Across my chest, the Distinguished Service Cross, the Silver Star, and the Purple Heart blazed with undeniable authority.
My silver-streaked hair was pulled back into a flawless, regulation bun. My eyes were ice.
Beside Mason, Vanessa gasped—a strangled, choking sound like a dying bird. "Cl... Claire?"
My mother dropped her wine glass. It shattered against the table, red wine spilling across the white linen like arterial blood. "What... what is she wearing? What kind of sick costume is that?!"
"Shut up, Evelyn!" Richard hissed, but his voice was shaking so violently his knees buckled.
I didn't spare them a single glance. I marched down the aisle, my pace steady and deliberate, stopping directly in front of the four most powerful commanders in the United States military.
General Anthony Vance, four-star general, commander of millions of soldiers and hundreds of billions in defense assets, snapped his right hand to the brim of his cap in a razor-sharp, textbook salute.
Beside him, General Hayes, General Sterling, and Admiral Brooks raised their hands in unison.
"Major General Donovan," General Vance boomed, his voice carrying into every dark corner of the room. "The Joint Investigative Task Force has completed operational perimeter containment. All assets are in position. We await your orders, General."
I raised my right hand and returned the salute.
"Thank you, General Vance," I said, my voice calm, flat, and carrying the terrifying weight of absolute authority. "Take your seats, gentlemen. The court of inquiry is now in session."
The sound of my voice seemed to physically strike Mason Rourke. His knees hit the edge of the dining table, rattling the silverware. His face had drained of every drop of color, turning a sickening, ghastly gray.
The failure.
The paper-pusher.
The sister who had to be tolerated.
May you like
The woman he had poured ice-cold champagne over twenty minutes ago was a two-star Major General—and the Director of the Defense Inspector General’s Special Corruption Task Force.
***
