Chapter 7 - THE GENERAL'S TOASTWhen the heavy doors swung shut behind the MPs and my disgraced uncle, a heavy, breathless silence hung over the ballroom.
Colonel Carter cleared his throat, adjusting his jacket. He picked up a crystal flute of champagne from a passing waiter's tray, turned toward the remaining guests, and raised his glass high.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Colonel Carter announced, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "I propose a toast."
He turned his eyes directly toward me.
"To the real defenders of this nation. To those who don't need banquet halls, expensive cigars, or loud voices to command respect. To Phoenix One."
A few hesitant guests raised their glasses. Then more. Within seconds, every single retired general, officer, and defense contractor in the room was holding their glass high, looking toward me with a mixture of awe, reverence, and absolute terror.
I didn't smile, and I didn't pick up a glass. I simply gave a single, crisp nod of acknowledgment.
"Thank you, Colonel," I said quietly.
May you like
I turned away from the bar, picking up my small leather satchel from the counter.
"If you'll excuse me," I added, looking at Colonel Carter. "I have a tactical debriefing in the basement command center in twenty minutes. Real work is waiting."
