Chapter 3 - THE QUESTIONGeneral Vance’s boots clicked rhythmically against the marble floor as he walked past my mother, past the stunned senators, and straight past Elowen, who stood frozen with her hand still awkwardly hovering in mid-air.
The string quartet, sensing the tension, ground to a stuttering, awkward halt.
The entire room of one hundred and thirty elite guests fell so quiet you could hear the ice melting in the champagne buckets.
General Vance stopped walking. He turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto the dark service hallway near the back of the room where I stood half-hidden behind the ivy planters.
Then, his deep, gravelly voice echoed across the cavernous ballroom, carrying an absolute, commanding authority that made people flinch:
“Who signed her file this morning?”
My mother blinked rapidly, her fake smile cracking down the middle. “I… I beg your pardon, General? Elowen’s promotion file? Well, the Department of the Army personnel board processed it, of course! She’s a Major now—”
“I didn't ask who processed it, Mrs. Whitlock,” General Vance interrupted, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. “I asked who signed it.”
Elowen laughed nervously, her cheeks flushing a bright, frantic red. “General, you must be joking. I signed my acceptance paperwork at the regional command desk this morning, and the promotion board stamped it—everyone knows I earned this rank through my logistics tracking record in the Atlantic Sector—”
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“You didn't earn a damn thing, Lieutenant,” General Vance snapped, the word Lieutenant hitting the room like a physical blow.
Elowen gasped, staggering back half a step. “Lieutenant? Sir, I’m a Major! Look at my oak leaves!”
