My mother took a step back, her hand fluttering to her throat, her pearl necklace shifting.

“Arthur, do something,” she whispered to my father.

“This is a public circus. Tell them to stop.”

My father didn’t answer her; his eyes were fixed on the blue folder in my arms.

The General walked around the table, his boots making a slow, deliberate sound.

He stopped inches from Andrew, who was still breathing heavily, his uniform jacket slightly askew.

“You are relieved of your duties, effective immediately, Colonel Carter,” the General said.

“You will report to the military police headquarters in Building 400.”

“Sir, please,” Claire sobbed, grabbing Andrew’s arm. “You can’t do this to him. Not because of her.”

The General didn’t even look at her.

“Sergeant Miller, escort the Lieutenant Colonel to the MP station,” the General ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Miller said.

He gripped Andrew’s elbow, turning him toward the heavy oak door of the conference room.

Andrew didn’t look at Claire, and he didn’t look at my parents.

He kept his eyes locked on me, his glare filled with a cold, desperate hatred.