Chapter 8 - THE SECURE LINEI picked up my heavy canvas pack, slinging the strap over my shoulder.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, tapping the encrypted screen. A secure satellite ping from the Pentagon joint operations center:
“Captain Vale. Debriefing scheduled at Langley headquarters tomorrow at 0800. Welcome back from the dark, Captain.”
I typed a single-word reply: “Acknowledged.”
Some people spend their entire lives building dynasties on sand, assuming that wealth, lies, and elaborate social theater can protect them from the consequences of their own greed. They host parties for ghosts, forgetting a fundamental law of survival:
You can't bury someone who refuses to stay dead.
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I walked past the gaping valets, past the empty white tents, and out through the iron gates of the Charleston mansion without looking back once.
The road ahead was quiet, dark, and entirely my own.
