Chapter 9 - SCARS AND STRIPESThirty minutes later, the Oval Office was empty except for President Reynolds, Director Vance, and me.
The President walked over to the mahogany bar in the corner, poured three glasses of scotch, and handed one to me and one to Vance. She looked down at the small butterfly bandage still resting on my split lip.
"I’m sorry about your face, Elena," President Reynolds said softly, clinking her glass against mine. "The military has a lot of old dinosaurs who still think women in uniform are just paperwork processors. We’re working hard to clean house, but clearly, we missed a few."
"You didn't miss them anymore, Madam President," I said, taking a small sip of the smooth amber liquid. It burned pleasantly against my sore lip. "Blackwood is facing a court-martial with life imprisonment on the table, Sterling is heading to a black site, and the San Diego cell is being rolled up as we speak."
"Good," the President said, walking back to her desk and picking up a pristine, heavy leather folder stamped with the gold presidential seal. "Because I have a new assignment for you, Commander."
Vance raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorway. "What kind of assignment, Madam President?"
"Task Force Reaper is being expanded," she said, sliding the folder across the desk toward me. "Effective immediately, you’re being promoted to Captain. I’m putting you in charge of internal oversight for all special operations logistics across the entire Pacific Command. You find the leaks before they start."
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I looked down at the folder, then up at the President. A slow, genuine smile spread across my face.
"Consider it done, Madam President," I said, snapping a crisp, flawless salute.
