She took another step toward me, reaching out with her manicured hand.

“We agreed to keep her career out of the social columns for her own safety.”

I watched her hand hover in the air between us.

She wanted me to take it.

She wanted the room to see a mother protecting her heroic daughter.

“There was no such agreement, Helen,” I said.

“You told the neighbors I was a clerk in North Carolina.”

Helen’s smile faltered, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“We did it to protect you, Emerson,” she said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

“The threat levels were classified.”

“The threat levels were public knowledge,” a new voice said from the back of the room.

The double doors of the ballroom swung open.

The heavy oak panels hit the rubber stops with a dull thud.

A tall man in a dark green Marine Corps dress uniform walked into the light.

The silver stars on his shoulders glinted under the chandeliers.

It was General Drummond.

He carried a leather folder under his left arm.

His boots clicked with a slow, deliberate rhythm against the wood floor.