Chapter 13 - The Clash of Empires
Victoria’s face burned scarlet. She stood up so violently her mahogany chair screeched against the floorboards.
"Do you know who my family is?!" Victoria shrieked, drawing the attention of the faculty monitors at the dining hall entrance. "My grandfather built this school! One phone call and your little welfare mother will be scrubbing latrines in Alaska!"
Before Chloe could answer, the heavy double doors of the dining hall swung open with an authoritative crack.
Headmaster Alistair Croft rushed into the room, his face pale, sweat beading along his receding hairline. Behind him walked four men in dark charcoal suits, ear-pieces coiled behind their necks, their eyes sweeping the room with the mechanical discipline of elite Secret Service details.
And then I stepped through the threshold.
I wasn’t wearing civilian clothes today. I had come directly from a classified Joint Chiefs briefing at the Pentagon. I wore the full Army Service Uniform: midnight blue wool, gold braided cuffs, the combat infantry badge above six rows of campaign ribbons, the newly minted Distinguished Service Medal, and the two blazing silver stars pinned to each shoulder board.
The dining hall seemed to lose all atmospheric pressure. Over three hundred students and faculty members froze mid-motion. Several teachers dropped their ceramic coffee mugs, the shattering porcelain echoing in the silence.
I walked down the central aisle, the heels of my polished jump boots striking the hardwood like clockwork metronomes. Every step radiated the lethality of a woman who commanded forty thousand combat troops.
Headmaster Croft was practically stumbling at my flank. "G-General Whitaker! Ma'am! We were not expecting an official liaison visit today—if we had known, we would have organized an honor guard—"
"Quiet, Croft," I said, not raising my voice, yet cutting through the air like a razor blade.
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I stopped directly behind Victoria Sterling. The girl turned around, her sneer freezing into an expression of sheer, paralyzing terror as her gaze traveled from the combat ribbons up to the two silver stars gleaming inches from her eyes.
"You were speaking about my daughter's pedigree," I said smoothly, staring down into Victoria’s trembling eyes. "Tell me, Miss Sterling... what branch of service did your father bleed for?"
