He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-lined box.

Hayes flicked the silver latch on the box.

Inside lay the Distinguished Service Medal, its blue, white, and red ribbon catching the light of the crystal chandeliers.

The room remained completely still.

“This was approved under a classified directive three months ago,” Hayes said.

He kept his eyes locked on the front row of officers.

“My team was marked as lost by command,” he continued.

“We were told no one was coming.”

Michael shifted his weight, his dress uniform buttons straining slightly as he leaned forward.

“Captain, there must be a mistake,” Michael said, his voice dropping an octave.

“My sister is a logistics officer.”

“Your sister,” Hayes said, turning his head slowly toward Michael, “is a Lieutenant Colonel who led a six-man reconnaissance unit into a hot zone without air support.”

I kept my posture rigid, my eyes fixed on the back wall of the ballroom.

The brass band in the corner had stopped tuning their instruments.

“She bypassed two direct orders to abort,” Hayes said.