Chapter 4 - Major Preston Hale Faces Immediate Professional Destruction
Major Hale stood paralyzed behind the bar, his carefully cultivated confidence evaporating into thin air.
His face drained of all color, turning the sickly pale shade of a fresh recruit facing a firing squad.
“General...” Hale stammered, his voice cracking horribly over the microphone system that was still turned on.
“M-ma’am, I had no idea... I thought...” he bumbled blindly, taking an involuntary step backward into the liquor bottles.
“You thought wrong, Major,” I said, my voice cutting through the silent room like a razor-sharp bayonet.
I walked forward slowly, my boots clicking rhythmically against the polished floor as the crowd parted like water.
Not a single person dared to breathe, let alone look me directly in the eye as I approached the bar.
The vanilla candles flickered in the draft, casting long, dancing shadows across rows of terrified faces.
Major Hale looked as though he wanted nothing more than for the wooden floor to open up and swallow him whole.
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His career, built on years of arrogant bullying and sycophantic networking, was crashing down in mere seconds.
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