Chapter 12 - THE MIDNIGHT SUBPOENA
The rain began around midnight, beating a violent, rhythmic tattoo against the leaded glass windows of Mercer’s Georgetown townhouse. Inside, the living room had been transformed into an operational command node. Topographic maps of northern Virginia were pinned over centuries-old oil paintings, and two secure military laptops hummed on a mahogany dining table littered with cold coffee and shredded documents.
Leah sat in an armchair, her prosthetic leg unclipped and resting against the coffee table, her eyes bloodshot as she stared at the tablet in her hands. Samir leaned against the mantle, his arms crossed over a chest scarred by shrapnel, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles jumped beneath the skin.
"They're calling it an investigative inquiry," Mercer said, pacing the length of the room with his tie undone. "Chaired by Senator Sterling. He’s the ranking member of the Senate Armed Services Committee, and coincidentally, the largest recipient of Prometheus Defense PAC funding for the past three election cycles."
"It's a kangaroo court," Leah said, her voice shaking with quiet fury. "They’re using Charles. Charles is offering to take the fall for the faulty body armor contracts, but only on the condition that he testifies that Rebecca orchestrated the supply diversion from inside Kandahar to fund an unauthorized black-ops cell."
Rebecca stood motionless by the window, watching the rain run in rivulets down the glass. In the reflection, she saw the faint scar along her hairline—the souvenir from the night her father had shoved her into the glass display case at his gala, screaming that she was a disgrace while high-society donors watched in silence. He had lost that battle, but like any cornered predator with billions in off-shore contingency accounts, he was willing to burn down the entire forest just to kill the hunter.
"He wants to destroy the legacy," Rebecca murmured. "He doesn't care if he spends ten years in a minimum-security facility. His ego cannot accept that the daughter he discarded became the symbol of his downfall."
"It's worse than that," Samir spoke up, tossing a folder onto the table. "Look at the list of witnesses Sterling’s committee has called. They aren't military officers. They're private contractors. Men from the Black River security umbrella. Men who were stationed on the perimeter the night our base was overrun."
Mercer stopped pacing. "Why would Sterling call private contractors to testify about an active military combat zone?"
"Because," Rebecca said, turning around slowly, her eyes reflecting the cold blue light of the monitors, "the ambush wasn't an accident. We always believed the radio went silent because of faulty relays supplied by my father’s shell companies. But what if the radio silence wasn't a product failure? What if it was an operational order?"
The room fell dead silent. Leah looked up, her breath catching. "Rebecca... are you saying our own command left us out there to die?"
"My father didn't just sell bad equipment," Rebecca whispered, the terrible, jagged puzzle pieces finally sliding into place. "He sold the route. He sold our coordinates to a private bidder who needed our outpost scrubbed to clear a mineral transport corridor. And if Sterling convenes that committee tomorrow, they will seal the records under classified executive privilege forever."
"Then we don't go to the committee," Samir said, reaching for his jacket. "We go to the archives."
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"No," Rebecca replied, her voice dropping into the commanding, unyielding tone that had once kept sixteen wounded soldiers alive in a burning trench. "We go to both. Mercer, you and Leah prep the legal defense with General Vance. Samir, you're with me. We have six hours before sunrise to pay a visit to the only man alive who witnessed Charles sign the Cerberus protocols."
***
