PART 4: A FATEFUL MEETING AT THE PENTAGON
The next morning, I arrived at the Pentagon following an urgent summons from the Office of the Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense. My dress uniform was freshly pressed, and my polished black shoes clicked sharply against the marble-lined corridors. Officers and civilian staff passing by immediately stopped to snap crisp, formal salutes. I returned the gesture to each one.
When I pushed open the door to Harrison Reed’s office, he was standing over a tactical map spread across his desk, surrounded by three senior national security officers.
– Right on time, as always, Colonel Vance, – Reed looked up, gesturing for the other officers to leave. As the door clicked shut, he sighed and walked over to the corner sofa. – Arthur Vance hasn't been sitting idle overnight.
– I didn't expect him to be patient, – I sat down opposite him, calmly opening my briefcase. – What has he done?
– Arthur has already leaned on three senators on the defense appropriations subcommittee, demanding a full audit of frontline field hospitals and a special review of the medical grants you oversee, – Reed flashed a dry, mocking smirk. – He thinks you're just some naive doctor easily crushed by bureaucratic red tape and political threats. He has no idea that the battlefield medical budget you control is shielded directly by top-secret national security directives from the National Security Council.
– He has always despised women, and especially anyone who doesn't rake in cash from defense contracts, – I replied coldly. – But this time, Arthur has dug his own grave with the very trap he set. What does grandfather's will say about Vance Defense?
Reed slid a heavy, crimson-sealed folder across the table. – Exactly what General Marcus anticipated before he passed. Arthur’s corporation is preparing to sign a fraudulent contract supplying counterfeit medical gear to overseas military bases to pocket tens of millions in illegal profits. The complete financial records, fake invoices, and lists of bribed officials are all stored on the hard drive your grandfather hid in his private safe.
I lightly touched the crimson folder. Ten years ago, I was driven from my home for refusing to become a pawn in my family's dirty political chess games. Ten years later, these very files would expose the raw truth to the light of justice.
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– What did my grandfather want me to do with this? – I looked up at Reed.
– Bring it to light, – Reed answered firmly. – No hesitation, no exceptions. Even if the man at the top of that criminal list bears the name Vance.
