Chapter 2 - The Hallway of Arrogance
The combat medic knelt beside me, his gloved hands moving with lightning speed. Within seconds, my bloody shirt was sheared away with trauma shears, and an occlusive dressing was sealed over the deep, jagged puncture wound in my shoulder. A shot of non-narcotic combat analgesic flooded my bloodstream through an emergency IV line, dulling the razor edges of the pain just enough for me to keep my eyes open.
"Sir, she's lost significant blood," the medic reported, securing my arm across my chest. "Puncture wound is three inches deep, possible clavicle fracture and deltoid tear. She needs an operating room."
"Get her stabilized for airlift," Harris ordered. He turned his eyes toward the hallway. His expression looked like carved granite.
Downstairs, Jonathan was still shouting, his voice carrying the entitled arrogance of a wealthy corporate consultant who believed his social status shielded him from consequences.
"Do you know who I am?!" Jonathan roared from the foyer. "You broke down my door without a warrant! I will have every single one of your badges by morning! I have personal connections with the mayor and the governor!"
Harris stepped out onto the landing and walked slowly down the carpeted stairs. I forced myself to sit up on the transport gurney as two operators lifted me, following right behind him.
The living room had become an active detention zone.
Marcus was pinned face-down on the Persian rug, his hands secured behind his back in heavy plastic flex-cuffs. His lip was split, bleeding onto the wool, his drunken defiance reduced to whimpering curses. Veronica was sitting on the sofa, clutching her silk robe around her throat, weeping hysterically while an armed tactical officer kept a steady rifle pointed at her feet.
My father was standing against the fireplace, his face flushed bright red with indignation, glaring at the soldiers in front of him.
"Commander Harris?" Jonathan gasped, his eyes widening in total disbelief as he recognized the man descending the staircase. "David? What the hell is the meaning of this?! Did you order these men to invade my home?!"
Harris stopped at the base of the stairs, clasping his hands behind his back. "I didn't invade your home, Jonathan. I am executing an emergency tactical intervention to rescue an active-duty United States Army specialist who was being assaulted with a deadly weapon."
"That’s ridiculous!" Veronica shrieked from the couch, pointing a trembling, manicured finger toward me as the gurney rolled into the foyer. "She fell! She had an episode! She's mentally unstable from her deployment! Marcus was just trying to calm her down and she attacked him!"
Marcus lifted his bruised face from the rug. "Yeah! She came at me with a kitchen knife, Commander! I was defending myself!"
Harris didn't even blink. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small tactical tablet, and held it up for the entire room to see.
The screen was connected to a covert audio-video surveillance feed streaming directly from my bedroom.
Three weeks earlier, before I returned to Colorado, Harris had instructed me to install a high-definition pinhole security lens inside the smoke detector above my bed.
The audio echoed across the silent foyer with horrifying, crystal-clear fidelity.
"You think the Army made you tough? You’re nothing, Lily."
Then came the sickening thud of my body hitting the wall, the wet, crunching sound of the screwdriver tearing through muscle, and my agonized scream.
Followed by Veronica’s mocking laughter.
"Oh, stop being dramatic. Marcus is joking. You always overreact."
And my father’s cold, callous voice.
"She wants attention. She always has."
Jonathan’s face drained of every ounce of blood, turning a sickly shade of gray. The haughty defiance in his eyes dissolved into sheer, unadulterated panic.
"You... you recorded that?" Jonathan stammered, his knees visibly buckling beneath him.
"Every single second," Harris said, his voice dropping into a register of icy, lethal precision that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Audio, video, and telemetry. You laughed while your stepson drove a steel screwdriver into an active-duty soldier recovering on official convalescent leave. You stood in the doorway, watched her bleed, and refused to summon emergency medical care."
May you like
Harris leaned forward, his face inches from Jonathan’s.
"In the eyes of the United States Uniformed Services and the Department of Defense, that isn't a family squabble, Jonathan. That is aggravated assault with intent to maim, conspiracy to commit murder, and deprivation of medical aid to a federal service member. You aren't dealing with your local sheriff friends anymore. You are under military federal jurisdiction."
