886 The General She Ordered Away at the White House Gate Was the Daughter He Abandoned Twenty-Six Years Ago—And Now She Holds the Signature That Can Destroy His Empire

"Who else knows you came here?" I asked, my voice dropping into an absolute, razor-sharp command tone that made Lorraine flinch.

"No one," she stammered, scrambling to her feet. "I swear to God, Maya, I drove straight from the hotel. I didn't tell Blake, I didn't tell Victor—"

"Then how does General Hale already know there's a personal vendetta?" I interrupted, grabbing my service jacket off the back of the chair. "The ink on the audit report isn't even dry, and someone has already leaked the family connection to the press pool and the Secretary's ethics committee."

Lorraine’s eyes widened in horror. "Blake," she breathed. "When we were leaving the White House... Blake saw me take your picture off the reception registry. He was playing with his phone in the back of the car. He heard Victor talking about your mother."

I didn't waste time cursing. Blake wasn't smart enough to orchestrate a sophisticated smear campaign on his own, but he was petty enough to drop a bomb into a group chat just to keep his allowance from getting cut. And if the ethics committee launched a formal inquiry into my conflict of interest, the audit would be suspended, the Titan-7 contract would automatically renew by default under emergency provisions, and Victor would buy himself six more months of life support.

"Get your coat, Lorraine," I said, walking to the door and pulling my weapon holster back on.

"Where are we going?" she asked, panicking.

"We're going to my office at the Pentagon. If my integrity is going to be put on trial, we're going to do it with the full file on the table—including whatever is inside that envelope."

We drove in tense, suffocating silence through the evening DC traffic. The rain had started to fall, slicking the asphalt and casting long, blurred reflections from the streetlights against the windshield. By the time we cleared security at the Pentagon and walked up to the third-floor corridor leading to my division, the hallways were empty and sterile.

Except for one person waiting by my office door.

It wasn't General Hale. It wasn't an ethics investigator.

It was Victor.

He looked older in the harsh fluorescent lighting, the tailored tuxedo jacket replaced by a heavy wool trench coat, his silver hair slightly damp from the rain. When he saw Lorraine trailing a few paces behind me, his face twisted into an ugly, dark mask of betrayal.

"What is the meaning of this?" Victor demanded, stepping forward, his voice echoing down the empty corridor. "Maya, have you completely lost your mind? Dragging your stepmother into your little revenge fantasy?"

"She came to me, Victor," I said, stopping ten feet away from him. I didn't flinch, didn't step back, and didn't let my eyes drop from his. "And she brought something interesting. Your real books."

Victor’s gaze flicked to the manila folder in my hand, and for a microsecond, his expression didn't just show anger—it showed pure, unadulterated terror.

"She's unstable," Victor said, his voice rising, pivoting smoothly to charm and manipulation as he turned toward the intersecting hallway. "General Hale! Thank God you're here. My daughter has gone completely rogue. She's harassing my family and fabricating documents—"

I turned my head. General Hale was stepping out of the adjoining briefing room, accompanied by two Military Police officers and a man I had never seen before—a tall, sharp-featured civilian wearing an expensive grey suit and an expression of cold corporate neutrality.