Chapter 4
Back upstairs, the atmosphere in Oakhaven Manor had grown palpably heavier. The grandfather clock in the main hallway chimed eight times, its deep, resonant gongs echoing through the cavernous rooms like a series of warnings. Robert Vance sat behind a massive mahogany desk in his private study, a glass of amber scotch resting untouched near his right hand. He was not panicked; men like Robert did not panic. They adapted, they maneuvered, and if necessary, they eliminated obstacles with absolute coldness.
Across the room, standing near the towering bookshelf filled with leather-bound legal treatises, David watched his father-in-law with guarded caution. Lily was asleep on a velvet settee in the corner, wrapped in David’s military field jacket, her breathing soft and even. Sarah had gone to secure their transport back to the base, leaving David alone with the man who had orchestrated their nightmare.
"You're fighting a tide, Major Miller," Robert said without looking up from the documents spread before him. His voice was gravelly, carrying the weary authority of a patriarch who refused to abdicate his throne. "Sarah has always been headstrong. Her mother was the same way—full of romantic notions about duty, honor, and truth. Look where it got her."
David took a measured step forward, his hands clasped behind his back in parade rest. "My wife’s mother died in a car accident, Mr. Vance. At least, that's what the official reports stated."
Robert finally raised his head, his grey eyes narrowing slightly as he met the younger officer’s steady gaze. "Are you implying something, Major? Because insubordination outside of uniform carries consequences just as severe as those inside."
"I'm not implying anything," David replied evenly, his voice devoid of anger, which seemed to disturb Robert far more than Sarah’s volcanic rage. "I’m simply observing that documents in this house tend to have very flexible dates. First-class fabrications usually do."
Before Robert could retort, the heavy oak study door swung open, and Sarah strode back into the room. Her face was pale, and her posture radiated an urgent tension that made David immediately step away from the desk. She didn't look at her uncle; instead, she walked straight to David, pulling a digital voice recorder from her belt.
"I checked the local police blotter logs from the night of my mother's accident," Sarah said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts. "The incident report was filed four hours before the actual crash occurred. The timestamp was manually altered in the county database."
Robert slowly stood up from his leather chair, his imposing frame casting a long shadow across the Persian rug. "You are digging into matters you do not understand, Sarah. Your mother’s death was a tragedy, plain and simple. The county records were corrected retroactively due to a clerical backlog."
"Clerical backlog?" Sarah stepped forward, brandishing the newly discovered files from the basement archive. "You filed the probate papers for her estate before the coroner even signed the death certificate! You stole her inheritance, you tried to steal my identity, and now you’ve got your hooks into my daughter!"
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Lily stirred on the settee, letting out a soft whimper as the raised voices penetrated her exhausted sleep. David instantly dropped to his knees beside her, stroking her hair until her breathing slowed down again. The sudden quiet in the room was deafening, broken only by the crackling of the logs settling in the nearby fireplace.
Robert adjusted the lapel of his black suit, his expression hardening into a mask of pure granite. "If you leave this house tonight, Captain Miller, do not expect to ever return. And do not expect to find a single penny of support when the military tribunal reviews your security clearance after I file formal charges of B&E and trespassing against you both."
