“LOOKS LIKE YOU PICKED THE WRONG TABLE, SWEETHEART.”

The courtroom was dead silent. General Vaughn’s face turned an ugly shade of purple, but seeing the four Military Police officers moving toward him with handcuffs ready, he slowly took a seat in the very back row, his fists clenched tight.

Colonel Hale turned his attention back to the defense desk. “Proceed, Major Lin.”

Major Lin walked over to the evidence table and picked up a high-definition tablet. She hit play on the master audio file, connecting it to the courtroom speaker system.

The crisp, unmistakable voice of Derek Vaughn filled the room:

“Sergeant Miller throws your little complaint forms straight into the paper shredder every Friday afternoon... My dad owns half the flag officers in Washington... You’re nothing here.”

Derek Vaughn pulled back in his chair, his face draining of all color. He looked back at his father, but General Vaughn stared straight ahead, his jaw tight, realizing instantly that the recording had just sealed his son’s fate.

Major Lin turned off the audio. “Your Honor, we also submit the confession statement signed one hour ago by Staff Sergeant Miller. Under federal immunity, Sergeant Miller has admitted to destroying two official IG complaints under direct orders and financial incentive from the defense team.”

Robert Vance, the civilian attorney, sank slowly back into his chair, unable to offer a single objection.

Colonel Hale looked down at Derek Vaughn. The young Specialist who had stood so proudly over Lena in the mess hall just twenty-four hours ago was now trembling, staring at his own hands, completely broken.

“Specialist Vaughn,” Colonel Hale said, his voice cold and final. “Do you have anything to say before this court renders its recommendation for general court-martial?”

Vaughn looked up, his eyes filled with tears of anger and fear. He looked at Lena Mercer, sitting calm and unbothered across the room.

“She... she trapped me,” Vaughn whimpered, his voice cracking. “She planned this whole thing!”