“V-Vice Admiral on deck!” the MP shouted, his voice cracking with panic.
I didn’t acknowledge Marcus as he slid down the doorframe, clutching his bruised chest in total shock. I pushed open the heavy double doors and stepped into the cavernous, brightly lit auditorium.
The room was packed with over two thousand attendees. Admirals, politicians, and distinguished guests sat in endless rows of folding chairs, their eyes locked on the stage where my father, General Thomas Vance, stood at the podium. He was mid-speech, wiping a fake, theatrical tear from his eye as he spoke about “the legacy of courage.”
As I strode down the center aisle, the loud, rhythmic click of my heels echoed over the marble floor, sharply cutting through his speech. Heads began to turn. A ripple of frantic whispers cascaded through the crowd. I kept my posture absolutely perfect, my eyes locked dead on my father.
