Chapter 2 - The Weight of Gold
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The ballroom remained so quiet you could hear the hum of the crystal chandeliers overhead.
Derek stood frozen, his right arm still suspended in the air, his knuckles pale and trembling.
His gaze dragged slowly from the cut on my lip to the sharp gold epaulets anchored to my shoulders.
He had spent twenty-five years convincing himself that my career was an embarrassing little fantasy.
He had told our relatives that I was probably just pushing paper in some windowless basement in Norfolk.
Now, his eyes locked onto the four broad bands of solid gold lace encircling my cuffs.
He saw the polished silver eagles pinned cleanly to my collar.
Derek was not a smart man, but even an ignorant civilian knew what four stripes meant in the United States Navy.
I was a full Captain.
I held a rank equivalent to an Army Colonel, commanding thousands of active-duty personnel and billions of dollars in naval assets.
The blood running inside my mouth tasted like iron, but I did not touch my lip.
I did not blink, and I did not flinch.
Beside Derek, my mother took a hesitant step backward, her diamond necklace catching the glare of the flashbulbs.
Her hand slipped away from Derek’s tailored sleeve as though the fabric had suddenly caught fire.
"Derek," she whispered, her voice cracking like dry parchment.
She looked around the vast ballroom and finally registered the wall of dark blue dress uniforms surrounding them.
Every single conversation among the four hundred attendees had died the second Derek's palm cracked against my skin.
These were men and women who had fought through Fallujah, commanded guided-missile cruisers, and led carrier strike groups across hostile oceans.
To strike a naval officer in uniform was a federal crime.
To strike a female commanding officer in front of her peers, subordinates, and commanders was sheer suicide.
Master Chief Keating took two measured strides toward us, his dress shoes clicking against the polished marble floor.
He stood six feet four inches tall, his chest covered in five rows of combat ribbons and three gold trident insignias.
His jaw was locked so tight the muscle twitched under his scarred skin.
"Stand down, sir," Keating commanded, his voice dropping like an anvil onto the floor.
Derek swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently as his face turned from angry crimson to a sickly, powdery white.
"Wait a minute," Derek stammered, raising both hands in a clumsy gesture of defense.
"You don't understand what's happening here."
"This is my sister."
"This is just a private family matter."
A tall, silver-haired man walked out from the VIP circle near the stage.
It was Vice Admiral Richard Vance, Commander of Naval Air Force Atlantic and my direct superior.
The crowd parted for the three-star admiral without a sound.
Admiral Vance stopped two paces from Derek and looked at him with eyes as cold as arctic water.
"In this room, she is not merely your sister," Admiral Vance said, every word clipped and lethal.
"She is Captain Claire Vance, Commanding Officer of Naval Station Norfolk."
"And you are an unauthorized guest who just committed battery against a senior naval officer of the United States."
Derek looked as though the floor beneath his polished Italian shoes had just dropped into a bottomless trench.
He looked frantically toward Patricia, begging for help with wide, desperate eyes.
"Mom," Derek pleaded, his voice thin and shrill.
"Tell them."
"Tell them who we are!"
Patricia tried to muster the aristocratic sneer that had terrorized my entire childhood.
She straightened her spine, raised her chin, and glared at the admiral.
"Do you have any idea who my family is?" Patricia snapped, trying to force authority into her trembling voice.
"We are the Holloways."
"We practically built the historic district in this city!"
"My son has an honorary civic commendation from the mayor!"
"This girl was expelled from our home because she has always been unstable and malicious!"
"She deliberately provoked him!"
Admiral Vance did not even look in Patricia's direction.
He kept his gaze locked on Derek, who was beginning to shake uncontrollably.
"Master Chief," the Admiral said calmly.
"Sir," Keating barked.
"Secure this individual immediately."
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"Call the base Shore Patrol and coordinate with the Norfolk Police Department."
"He leaves this ballroom in irons."
