Chapter 2 - The Proxy
The attorney didn't bother sitting down. He dropped the Manila envelope onto the sticky Formica table between Mera and me, gave Mera a cold, practiced look, and turned his attention to me.
“Colonel Vance has amended your active-duty review, Colonel Sterling,” the lawyer said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. “Effective immediately, your invitation to Walter Reed has been placed on administrative hold pending an inquiry into potential conflicts of interest.”
I didn't touch the envelope. I kept my hands flat on the table, looking up at him. “On whose authority?”
“The Inspector General’s office,” he replied smoothly. “It appears your recent interaction with General Beckett’s son at the gala has raised questions regarding your objectivity and professional boundaries when dealing with high-ranking officials’ families.”
Mera let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “There it is. The narrative. If you show basic human decency, they weaponize it.”
The lawyer ignored her, fixing his gaze on me. “You have forty-eight hours to surrender your security credentials to the base provost marshal. Carson sends his regards, by the way. He hopes you’ll finally realize that playing the independent hero only hurts the people around you.”
He turned on his heel and walked out, the bell chiming behind him as the door swung shut.
I opened the envelope. Inside was a formal notification of suspension, signed not by my immediate commanding officer, but by Colonel Thomas Vance himself. But tucked beneath the official letterhead was a handwritten sticky note: Meet me at the north gate parking garage at 1300. Bring the Kandahar logbook.
Mera leaned over the table, her eyes wide with alarm. “Penny, don't go. That’s a trap. Vance is Carson’s puppet. Whatever he wants to meet about, it’s designed to back you into a corner where you look like the aggressor.”
“If I don't go, they lock me out of the system permanently,” I said, standing up and dropping a twenty-dollar bill onto the table. “Once my security clearance is revoked, I won't have access to the digital audit trails I need to prove Vance leaked my records. I’m going.”
“Then let me help,” Mera said, her voice trembling slightly. “I still have my old financial records from when Carson and I were married. I know how Vanguard moves money through shell corporations. Give me until noon, and I can give you the account numbers that connect Vance’s consulting retainer directly to Carson’s personal accounts.”
I looked at her, seeing the lingering terror of a woman who had spent years fighting a legal machine she couldn't see. I nodded. “Meet me at my quarters at 1400. If I’m not back by then, take those financial records straight to General Beckett’s office.”
The north gate parking garage was damp and echoing, smelling of exhaust fumes and wet concrete. At precisely 1300 hours, Colonel Thomas Vance stepped out from behind a concrete pillar, adjusting the buttons of his uniform jacket. He looked nervous, his eyes darting toward the street entrance.
“You’re late, Colonel,” Vance said, stepping forward.
“I had to read your little suspension notice,” I said, stopping ten feet away. “Care to explain why an Inspector General is doing a defense contractor's dirty work?”
Vance’s face flushed. “You don't understand the pressure, Sterling. Carson’s firm controls the congressional oversight committee appointments for military medical procurement. If I didn't flag your file, they were going to bury my entire department's budget for the next fiscal year.”
“So you sold your integrity for a line item?” I asked, my voice dangerously low.
“I saved my people,” Vance snapped, taking a step closer. “And you can save yourself if you hand over your badge and drop the investigation into Vanguard. But before you do... you need to know something else.” He reached into his pocket. “Carson didn't just target your service record because of the gala. He’s been auditing your hospital unit's supply chain for the last three months.”
My breath hitched. “What are you talking about?”
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“He’s not just trying to ruin your career, Penny,” Vance said, his eyes widening in sudden, genuine fear. “He’s framing you for a supply diversion scandal in Afghanistan. The missing medical gear from Kandahar? Your name is on the shipping manifests.”
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