Chapter 11
The ballroom began to empty out shortly after the federal agents escorted Robert Sterling away. Wealthy donors and corporate executives gathered their coats and departed in hushed, hurried groups, eager to distance themselves from a scandal that would undoubtedly dominate morning news cycles across the country. The glittering gala had transformed into a crime scene wrapped in the remnants of a half-eaten banquet, the crystal glassware and wilted floral centerpieces standing as mute witnesses to the evening’s unraveling.
Vance, Elena, and the federal agent remained standing near the base of the stage, discussing the logistics of the formal depositions that would take place over the coming days. The agent explained that while Vance’s voluntary submission of the physical ledger and his public testimony would grant him cooperation status, he would still face a formal military review board regarding his initial silence a decade ago. Vance nodded in quiet acceptance; he expected no less, and welcomed the accountability.
“We’ll need you both at the federal building tomorrow morning at nine,” the agent said, closing her tablet and slipping it into her briefcase. “Thank you for your cooperation, Colonel. And Ms. Cruz.”
With a professional nod, the agent turned and walked toward the exit, leaving Vance and Elena alone in the vast, echoing expanse of the hotel ballroom. The cleanup crew had begun wheeling in carts with plastic bins, quietly clearing away the abandoned plates and silverware with respectful efficiency, giving the two former colleagues a wide berth.
Vance let out a long, slow breath, feeling as though an invisible suit of armor he had worn for ten years had finally been unbuckled and dropped to the floor. He turned to look at Elena, who was staring down at the red plastic telephone in her hands, her thumb gently tracing the rotary dial numbers.
“You didn't have to carry that toy all the way onto the stage,” Vance said softly, a faint, weary smile touching the corners of his mouth.
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Elena looked up, meeting his eyes with a gentle, understanding expression. “I carried it because you wouldn't listen to the real phones,” she replied simply. “Sometimes you need something absurd to break through a wall of classified bureaucracy.”
Vance chuckled quietly, a genuine sound that had been absent from his life for far too long. He reached out, his hand hovering near the red plastic receiver for a fraction of a second before gently touching her wrist. The physical contact was warm, grounding, and entirely real—a stark contrast to the ghosts of FOB Delta that had haunted them both for a decade.
