Chapter 7 - CLEAN BREAK
Derek’s eyes bulged in pure terror. He pressed his back as hard as he could against the concrete pillar, his hands flying up in surrender.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Derek squeaked, his voice pitching high like a child's. "Don't hit me! Please!"
Marcus stared at him for three long, agonizing seconds, letting the fear sink deep into Derek’s bones. Then, with a look of absolute disgust, Marcus shoved Derek away.
Derek stumbled, tripped over his own feet, and fell hard onto the wet asphalt of the parking garage. His tux trousers tore at the knee, and his expensive leather shoes splashed into a puddle of dirty rain water.
"Get up," Marcus said coldly, stepping back and settling smoothly into his wheelchair. "Get in your car, drive home, and pack your bags. If Mara finds one trace of you in her apartment when she gets home tonight, I won't call the police. I'll call the Navy Provost Marshal to investigate your company's tax records."
Derek didn't say another word. He scrambled to his feet, dripping with dirty water, his hair matted to his forehead, and ran down the parking ramp toward the street like a kicked dog.
I stood near the pillar, watching him disappear into the dark Seattle night. The silence returned, filled only with the soft drip of water from the concrete ceiling.
I looked down at Marcus.
"You walked," I murmured, my voice soft with awe.
Marcus looked down at his legs, a self-deprecating smile gracing his lips. "Six years of physical therapy at San Diego Naval Hospital. I can stand for about four minutes at a time if I'm angry enough. The wheelchair is just for efficiency."
I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. "You always were a show-off, Reddick."
"Only when the situation demands it, Commander," Marcus said, his eyes turning warm as he looked up at me. "Are you okay?"
I took a deep, clear breath. For the first time in three years, the tight knot in my chest—the constant, subtle tension of trying to fit into Derek’s narrow, superficial world—was completely gone.
"I'm better than okay," I said, looking at the city skyline in the distance. "I feel like I just took off a ninety-pound pack after a twenty-mile march."
"Good," Marcus said, pulling a sleek tablet from the pouch beside his wheelchair. "Because your new life starts early tomorrow morning. The acquisition board wants you at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard at 0800 hours."
I blinked. "Tomorrow? That fast?"
"Halston Marine Systems is panicking," Marcus smiled slyly. "Vance Sr. has already uploaded six thousand pages of structural audit files to the Navy portal, begging for an immediate review. He wants to prove his company is clean before the board pulls their bidding license."
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I smiled—a real, genuine, sharp smile that I hadn't felt on my face in years.
"Six thousand pages?" I pulled up the sleeves of my trench coat. "Tell the board I’ll be at the shipyard at 0700. I want to read the high-stress failure reports before Vance Sr. has his second cup of coffee."
