Chapter 7 - The Brotherhood Gathers
Standing in the hallway was not an attorney.
It was First Sergeant Marcus Vance, formerly of Adrian’s company, flanked by seven active-duty soldiers in physical training uniform and four civilian attorneys carrying leather briefcases. Behind them, stepping through the double glass doors with quiet authority, was General Raymond Campbell himself.
Finch’s face went completely slack. The clipboard in his hand dipped downward.
“General Campbell, sir,” Finch stammered, his bureaucratic arrogance melting instantly. “This is a state regulatory matter. It’s outside military jurisdiction—”
“The Haven Center operates on a federal grant awarded under the Department of Defense Veteran Community Transition Act,” General Campbell said, walking into the center of the lobby. “Which means that any audit, inquiry, or interference with its daily operation falls under the direct purview of the Department’s Inspector General.”
General Campbell gestured to the woman beside him—a sharp-eyed woman in an officer’s uniform wearing the insignia of the Judge Advocate General’s Corps.
“This is Colonel Myers,” General Campbell said smoothly. “She has spent the last thirty-six hours reviewing your agency’s filings, Mr. Finch. It turns out that Judge Miller happens to be the brother-in-law of Mrs. Meredith Ashford. And the ‘whistleblower’ complaint you received was emailed from Mrs. Ashford’s personal IP address at three o'clock yesterday morning.”
Finch swallowed hard. A bead of sweat formed at his hairline and trickled down his temple. “We were merely following up on an allegation of missing funds—”
“The Haven Center’s books have been audited biannually by independent federal oversight,” Colonel Myers said, dropping a two-inch-thick binder onto Finch’s chest. “Every single dollar raised—including the four million dollars pledged on Saturday—is sitting in an escrow account managed by the Department of Veterans Affairs. Not a penny has been misused.”
Colonel Myers leaned in close. “On the other hand, Mr. Finch, we found several curious discrepancies regarding your country club’s municipal tax exemptions, which you personally rubber-stamped last spring. Federal investigators from the Department of Justice are already waiting at your main office downtown.”
Finch turned pale green. He looked at the two junior investigators who had stepped back against the wall, raising their hands in surrender.
“Have a safe drive back to the capital, Mr. Finch,” General Campbell said, his voice flat and unyielding. “And if you ever bring your circus to this door again, you won't be dealing with state paperwork. You’ll be dealing with me.”
Finch didn't utter another word. He turned on his heel and scrambled out the front door, his team trailing behind him like whipped dogs.
The room remained silent for two seconds before a roar of laughter and applause erupted from the veterans gathered around the hallways.
May you like
General Campbell walked over to my desk, took off his service cap, and placed it on the counter. “Adrian was the best squad leader I ever had under my command, Tamsin. When he was on the ground, he had our backs. As long as I draw breath, we have yours.”
***
