Chapter 14 - Blood Against Steel
The text hung on the small screen between us like a drawn blade.
Daniel looked down at the message, then back at me, his pupils dilated with animal panic. For a split second, I saw his hand twitch toward the service holster at his belt—a decorative, pristine leather holster carrying a ceremonial sidearm he had likely never fired outside of an indoor qualification range.
"Don't do it, Daniel," I said softly.
He froze. Tears of humiliation and rage welled in his eyes. "You think you're so damn righteous, don't you? The prodigal son returns with his Silver Star and his shattered leg, and suddenly everyone in the Pentagon forgets who held this family together! Who took Mom to the galas? Who kept Dad's name alive in the appropriations committees? You were off playing soldier while I had to bow and scrape to every corrupt bureaucrat with clearance!"
"You didn't do it to save the family, Daniel," I said, reaching out with lightning speed. I twisted his wrist inward, stripping the burner phone cleanly from his grip before he could react, then slipped his sidearm from its holster, dropping the magazine onto the concrete and racking the live round out into my palm. It hit the floor with a hollow brass chime. "You did it because you were terrified they would discover you were an empty uniform. You wanted the power without the dirt. You wanted the star without the scars."
He slumped against the wall, sliding down several inches until his knees gave way, his manicured hands clutching his face. "It wasn't my idea," he sobbed, his voice muffled against his palms. "It was Mother. She set up the shell account with Vance four years ago. After Dad died, the debts... Marcus, Dad left us nothing. Nothing but the house in Arlington and millions in unpaid private debts. She couldn't lose the estate. She couldn't lose the social standing."
A cold wind seemed to sweep through the concrete corridor, chilling the sweat on the back of my neck.
Eleanor.
My mother’s hand grabbing my wrist at the ballroom door flashed through my mind. *You are an embarrassment to this family, Marcus. You have no place in this room.*
She hadn't been trying to humiliate me because she was ashamed of my limp or my combat uniform. She had been terrified that my presence—my clearance, my sudden assignment to Hayes's direct oversight team—would dismantle the empire of lies she had constructed to keep her seat among the capital's elite.
"Where is she now?" I demanded, leaning down, grabbing the lapel of Daniel's mess jacket and pulling him up until his watering eyes met mine.
"She... she left with Vance," Daniel stammered, his teeth chattering. "They took the staff car toward the airfield perimeter. They’re meeting the transport at the restricted hangar. Marcus, you can't go out there. Vance brought his private tactical detail. They aren't going to let you testify. They aren't going to let either of us walk away from this."
"Get up," I ordered, releasing his lapel.
May you like
"Marcus—"
"Get on your feet, Captain Carter," I barked, using his rank like a whip. "You disgraced the uniform, you betrayed your men, and you hid behind your mother's skirt while hardware was being smuggled out of a combat zone. But right now, you are going to walk through that door, or I will leave you here for the clean-up team Vance sent to finish this."
