Four-star Admiral Helena Cross entered beneath the stained-glass light, her white dress uniform gleaming. She was Chief of Naval Operations—the one person my father had spent two years trying to impress because her office controlled the contracts his company desperately needed.
Richard’s face went pale.
The admiral stopped beside me, looked at my scars, then turned to him.
“Your father may be ashamed of your scars, Lieutenant,” she said, offering me her arm, “but I know exactly how you earned them.”
The silence broke.
As Admiral Cross walked me down the aisle, applause rose from the naval guests and spread through the chapel. Daniel’s eyes shone. My father remained near the doors, abandoned by the attention he worshiped.
At the altar, the admiral leaned close and whispered:
“Your investigation packet reached my desk this morning.”
I kept my smile steady.
“Is the evidence enough?”
