Chapter 4 - THE $3 MILLION QUESTIONArthur Sterling backed away toward the edge of the stage, his hands trembling as he grabbed the sides of the podium for support.
"This... this is an impostor!" Arthur shouted, his voice cracking with panic as he tried to rally the frozen crowd. "Some deranged vagrant crashed the gala! Security! Get this woman out of here!"
Not a single security guard moved.
Down in the front row, my mother, Eleanor Vale, sat paralyzed in her diamond-studded designer gown. Her mouth was frozen open in a silent scream, her manicured fingers clutching the arms of her chair so hard her knuckles turned chalk-white.
I ignored Arthur, reaching out instead to pick up the certified bank draft resting on the velvet tray.
I looked down at the three-million-dollar figure, then looked directly out into the sea of wealthy investors, judges, and local politicians.
"Three million dollars," I said, my voice ringing with cold irony. "A very generous donation to the Maren Vale Memorial Foundation. Tell me, Arthur—does this check cover the bribe for the civilian logistics clearance at the Charleston naval yards, or is that a separate line item?"
Arthur went the color of curdled milk. "You're... you're insane! That's defamation! I'll sue you into oblivion!"
"You can try," I replied calmly. "Assuming federal marshals let you make phone calls from a holding cell."
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I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a small, encrypted satellite data-drive, holding it up so the room could see the blinking green LED light.
"When my helicopter went down in Africa, it wasn't an accident," I stated, the words dropping like lead weights into the silence. "It was an internal sabotage attempt designed to bury an ongoing Inspector General investigation into illegal arms trafficking. An investigation I was leading."
