Chapter 10 - The Secret Clause in the Death Certificate
"Clara," Mark repeated, taking a slow step toward her as the suited man squirmed beneath his boot on the floor. "What did you sign?"
Clara backed away until her shoulders hit the refrigerator, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She looked down at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes, while David finally managed to push himself up onto his elbows, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek.
"The... the Department of Defense casualty assistance paperwork," Clara whispered, her voice trembling so violently the words were almost unintelligible. "When they brought the casket... when they said you were identified through DNA from the convoy..."
"They made you sign a nondisclosure agreement," Mark finished for her, the pieces clicking together with terrifying clarity in his mind. "A classified NDA attached to a state-funded mortgage grant and survivor annuity. Why? Because the government knew the convoy wasn't hit by enemy mortar fire. It was a black-ops supply run gone wrong, and they needed every body accounted for and sealed away forever."
"They said... they said if I ever contested the findings, or if any new information came to light regarding your unit, the benefits would be revoked and the house would be repossessed," Clara sobbed, sliding down the side of the refrigerator until she was sitting on the floor again, pulling her knees up to her chest. "We were broke, Mark! The bank was calling every day! David helped me fill out the forms because my hands were shaking too much to hold a pen!"
David wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, glaring up at Mark from the floor. "She did it to protect the kids, you selfish bastard! What would you have preferred? That she let the bank throw them out on the street while she waited for a dead man to walk through the door?"
Mark didn't look at David. His dark eyes remained fixed on Clara, watching the way she cowered away from him, treating him not like a returning husband, but like a walking security risk that threatened to blow up her entire fragile existence.
Beneath Mark’s boot, the suited man let out another wet laugh. "She’s a liability, Captain. Just like you. And according to section four of that agreement you both just violated by being in the same room... termination protocols are already in motion."
Before Mark could react, a low, electronic buzzing sound began to emit from the tactical belt of the man pinned to the floor. It was a digital timer, ticking down with rapid, rhythmic beeps.
May you like
Mark’s eyes widened. He dropped down, grabbed the man by the collar, and ripped a small, heavy black canister off the intruder’s belt just as the digital display flashed red: 00:03.
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