Chapter 8 - THE NEW HORIZONThree weeks after the wedding, the headlines dominating national news weren't about the glamorous St. Aurelia reception, but rather the total dismantling of the Rowe criminal enterprise.
Assets seized by the federal government were redirected into public infrastructure and veteran support programs—a final, poetic justice that my father’s stolen fortune was now being used to rebuild the very lives he and his cronies had exploited for decades.
I stood on the deck of a naval command vessel docked at the Pacific Fleet headquarters, the salty ocean breeze catching the edges of my dress uniform. The silver stars on my shoulders gleamed brightly in the morning sun.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was a text message from Calder: “We just landed in Santorini for our honeymoon. Bridget wanted me to remind you that you have an open invitation to command dinner at our house anytime you want.”
I smiled, typing back a short, simple reply: “Hold down the fort. Duty calls.”
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I slipped the phone back into my pocket, turned away from the railing, and looked out across the endless horizon of the open sea. I wasn't the nineteen-year-old girl standing in the freezing rain anymore, clutching two cheap suitcases and listening to a door slam shut.
I was the storm. And I was exactly where I belonged.
