Chapter 8 - Echoes of the PastThe transition back to active duty at the Pentagon was swift, but the ghosts of the past did not vanish simply because an office bore a new title and a polished brass plaque.
My promotion to Commander brought new responsibilities, but it also brought a flood of correspondence from people I hadn't heard from in years. Former academy classmates, distant cousins who had suddenly remembered our blood relation when my father’s trial made national headlines, and journalists desperate for an exclusive interview about the fall of the Harrington shipping empire.
I ignored them all.
Instead, I focused on the core mission of the Logistics Security and Oversight Division: auditing supply chains, tracking sub-component manufacturing plants, and ensuring that no other sailor went to sea with compromised equipment.
Around 2:00 p.m., a sharp knock sounded at my office door.
“Come in,” I called out without looking up from my terminal.
The door clicked open, and Admiral Reed stepped inside, holding two paper cups of terrible Pentagon coffee. He set one down on the edge of my desk before pulling up a chair.
“You’re working too hard, Evelyn,” Reed observed, studying my expression. “Even for a woman who just dismantled a multi-billion-dollar international conspiracy.”
“I’m just reviewing the supply manifests for the Seventh Fleet’s upcoming deployment to the Western Pacific,” I replied, taking a cautious sip of the bitter coffee. “Every single bolt, gasket, and guidance chip has to be triple-verified. I won't let another Prometheus happen on my watch.”
Reed nodded slowly, his eyes warm with approval. “You’ve changed the culture of this entire department, Commander. The contractors who used to cut corners are panicking. They know you won't accept bribes, and you certainly won't accept excuses.”
“Good. That’s the point,” I said.
Reed leaned forward, his demeanor shifting from casual mentor to serious strategist. “There’s a reason I came by. The fallout from your father’s trial isn't quite over yet. There’s one loose end.”
My fingers paused over the keyboard. “Who?”
“Celeste,” Reed said quietly.
I blinked, surprised. “My sister? What does she have to do with this? She was a bystander to Marcus and Richard’s schemes.”
“Legally, perhaps,” Reed corrected. “The prosecutors didn't find enough evidence to indict her on direct criminal charges, but she was listed as a beneficiary on several of Marcus’s offshore trusts in the Cayman Islands. Those assets have been frozen by federal order. She’s broke, Evelyn. The mansion is in foreclosure, her society friends have vanished from her phone contacts, and she’s currently staying in a modest apartment in Arlington.”
A strange mixture of cold indifference and residual familial pity tugged at my chest. For five years, Celeste had played the golden child, weaponizing my supposed instability to elevate her own status. Now, the glass tower she built her life upon had shattered into dust.
“What does she want?” I asked.
“She doesn't want anything yet. In fact, she’s been avoiding everyone,” Reed said, sliding a small slip of paper across the desk. “That’s her current address. I figured you had a right to know. Whether you choose to reach out or leave her to the life she chose is entirely up to you.”
I looked down at the slip of paper. The handwriting was neat, but the address represented a world so far removed from the crystal chandeliers of the Harrington Naval Club that it felt like an alternate dimension.
May you like
“Thank you, Admiral,” I said softly.
“Take the rest of the afternoon off, Commander,” Reed said, standing up and heading toward the door. “You’ve earned it.”
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