Chapter 4 - The Audit of Richard Harrington
The atmosphere in the grand ballroom had shifted from a celebratory gala to a tribunal. My father realized his empire was unraveling in real time. He forced a strained, desperate laugh, trying to wave away the mounting tension.
"This is absurd!" Richard Harrington shouted, trying to rally his corporate allies. "A disgruntled daughter and a theatrical military stunt! Admiral Reed, you are out of line, and I will be calling the Secretary of Defense first thing in the morning to—"
"You won't be calling anyone, Richard," another voice interrupted sharply.
From the double doors of the ballroom, a squad of federal investigators in dark suits marched in, flanked by naval military police. At their front was Director Vance of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS), his expression grim and unyielding.
Director Vance walked straight past the frozen guests and stopped in front of my father, holding up a federal warrant. "Richard Harrington, you are under arrest for treasonous conspiracy, bribery of defense officials, falsification of military supply specifications, and international arms trafficking."
The room erupted into absolute pandemonium. Defense contractors dropped their champagne glasses; senators backed away from my father as if he carried a plague.
"This is a setup!" my father roared, his face purple with rage as two military police officers stepped forward and slapped heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists. He thrashed against them, glaring at me with eyes full of venom. "You did this! You ungrateful little bitch! I gave you life!"
"You gave me a cage," I replied softly, stepping closer to him as the officers hauled him backward. "And I burned it down."
My mother let out a piercing shriek and collapsed into a chair, burying her face in her hands as flashbulbs from smuggled cell phone cameras began to flare around the room. Celeste stood frozen against the wall, her diamond bracelet clinking against her trembling wrist, finally realizing that her status, her wealth, and her unearned privilege were built on a foundation of sand.
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Director Vance turned toward me, snapping a respectful salute. "Captain Harrington, the search warrants executed at your father's primary warehouses tonight yielded the missing classified telemetry data. The compromised guidance systems have been intercepted. The Navy owes you an enormous debt."
"I was just doing my job, Director," I replied, returning the salute crisp and clean.
