PART 2: THE LATE GENERAL’S RELIC
The Washington afternoon rain didn't drizzle; it poured mercilessly, driving icy drops against my face as I stood quietly on the stone steps of the Army Navy Country Club. The solid silver lighter rested heavily in my palm, its surface etched with a soaring eagle—the familiar emblem of the Infantry Division my grandfather, General Marcus Vance, had once commanded during the Gulf War.
Harrison Reed stood beside me, his overcoat soaked dark at the shoulder, though he paid it no mind. His gaze was fixed on the misty blur of the rain ahead, where luxury cars carrying wealthy mourners were slowly departing one by one.
– He kept it until his very last day, Clarissa, – Reed said softly, his deep voice cutting through the patter of the rain. – Everyone thought old General Marcus was losing his mind at eighty. They assumed he was senile because he kept rambling on about a battle in the Korengal Valley last year. But none of his memories had faded. Especially not what you did for my battalion.
I unfolded the small scrap of paper wedged beneath a faded strip of old tape. My grandfather’s handwriting was shaky, stripped of the crisp, decisive strokes characteristic of his old military orders, but every word remained as sharp as a razor blade:
"Clarissa, If you are holding this lighter, it means I have truly embarked on my final campaign with no retreat. Your father will speak cruel words. He never understood the difference between false power bought with money and true power earned with blood on the battlefield. Pay him no mind. Remember whose blood runs in your veins. The funds in the federal bank vault do not belong to the Vance family; they belong to the fallen soldiers you tried so desperately to save. Fulfill my dying wish."
– Do you want to go back inside? – Reed asked when he noticed I had been standing motionless in the rain for too long. – Arthur Vance is still looking for you, demanding answers about our relationship. He thinks a Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense saluting an Army Colonel is some kind of protocol mix-up.
I let out a short, cold laugh devoid of warmth. – Let him live in that illusion a little longer, sir. Arthur has never accepted that his daughter wouldn't bow to the dirty political games or monopolistic business deals he mapped out for her. To him, a woman with no commercial or marital value is just a discarded pawn.
– That discarded pawn saved the Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee's son six months ago, – Reed reminded me with a faint, amused smirk. – If Arthur knew the truth about that, he wouldn't dare raise his voice inside the reception hall.
– Don't tell him just yet, – I folded the paper and tucked it carefully into my left breast pocket, right against the steady heartbeat beneath my uniform. – Surprise is always our sharpest weapon.
May you like
I turned and walked down the steps, leaving Reed standing there with a quiet farewell. A waiting military jeep quickly picked me up. Back at the base, the suffocating atmosphere of the funeral faded behind me, replaced by the familiar scent of antiseptic, the steady beep of life support monitors, and the stark white fluorescent lights of the field hospital.
Yet I knew peace was only temporary. Arthur Vance never gave up until he achieved his goals. And my return this time was not merely to pay respects, but to reclaim true justice from the hands of the family that had cast me out a decade ago.
