Chapter 7 - The Dress Whites
Putting on a senior officer's uniform is a slow, methodical ritual that requires absolute perfection in every detail.
Every crease must be razor-sharp; every single medal pinned precisely to the millimeter according to regulations.
I attached my Navy Distinguished Service Medal, the Defense Superior Service Medal, and my Legion of Merit ribbons.
The metallic clinking of the medals sounded heavy in the quiet room—each piece representing years away from home.
They represented operational nights in the South China Sea, tense negotiations in the Persian Gulf, and lost comrades.
I placed the Rear Admiral shoulder boards onto my crisp white tunic, sliding the golden anchors into place.
Finally, I picked up the white combination cover with its intricate double row of gold oak leaves embroidered along the brim.
"Scrambled eggs," junior sailors called those gold leaves on an admiral’s hat.
It was a symbol of absolute authority, massive strategic responsibility, and decades of relentless, unyielding service.
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror attached to the door.
I was no longer the quiet, insecure girl who left this small Virginia town thirty-six years ago to escape her father's shadow.
I was a Rear Admiral in the United States Navy, and I would not apologize for existing.
At 5:45 PM, my phone rang.
It was Master Chief Daniel Mason.
"Admiral," his deep, gravelly voice came through the speaker loud and clear.
"We are in position outside the main ballroom entrance."
"Master Chief, what are you talking about?" I asked, my brows furrowing in confusion.
"You served this country for thirty-six years, ma'am," Mason replied with absolute, unwavering discipline.
"Your family might not care about your service, but the fleet sure as hell does."
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"We're giving you the proper watch walk-off you earned, whether your father likes it or not."
Before I could issue a direct command to abort, he hung up the phone.
