Chapter 4 - The General's Rage
The flight medic plunged a large-bore IV line into my forearm, securing an oxygen mask over my face as two operators slid a titanium trauma backboard beneath my spine. Every movement sent waves of blinding agony through my pelvis, but my father’s iron grip on my right hand never wavered.
"Vitals are plummeting! Systolic pressure is seventy over forty!" the surgeon yelled over the ambient roar of the hovering helicopter. "Initiate rapid blood transfusion and prep the transport bay!"
As the medical team lifted the stretcher, General Marcus Vance rose slowly to his full six-foot-four height. The air in the ruined dining room seemed to drop ten degrees as he turned his gaze upon the two figures pinned beneath his operators' boots.
Bradley struggled against the floor, his cheek bruised and swollen, glaring upward with desperate, cornered malice. "You can't do this to me! I'll sue the entire Department of Defense! My godfather will have your commission stripped by sunrise!"
My father walked toward Bradley with deliberate, measured steps that echoed like a death knell in the silent house. He stopped inches from Bradley’s face, crouching down until his cold, unblinking eyes burned into the younger man's soul.
"For three years, you believed my daughter was an orphan from a broken home because she wanted you to love her for who she was, not the name she carried," my father said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "You mistook her grace for weakness, and you mistook my silence for absence."
Evelyn raised her head from the floor, spitting out a mouthful of rug fibers as she attempted to regain her aristocratic posture. "She was a clumsy, insubordinate girl who couldn't even prepare a decent meal! She threw herself against that counter to fabricate a lawsuit!"
My father’s eyes shifted to Evelyn, his expression devoid of pity, disgust, or warmth. "I have interrogated warlords and deposed dictators, madam, but rarely have I seen a soul as vile and cowardly as yours."
"Colonel Miller," the General commanded, turning his back on them without another glance. "Coordinate with the Department of Justice and the Provost Marshal."
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"Sir!" the tactical commander responded, snapping to attention.
"Secure every financial ledger, every electronic device, and every safe inside this residence," my father ordered coldly. "If a single dust mite leaves this property before the CID forensic accounting unit arrives, you will answer to me."
