"General Bennett?" Chief Harris
whispered, his voice cracking with sheer
terror.
Adrian stood up slowly, towering over
the Chief. "I am."
"Oh my god," Harris breathed, the reality
of the situation crashing down upon him like a
concrete vault. He turned to Prescott, his eyes
wide with a manic, desperate rage. "What
have you done? What the hell have you done,
Wade?!"
❦
CHAPTER 7
THE GENERAL'S
JUSTICE
The silence in the holding room was
deafening. Prescott stepped backward, his
mouth opening and closing like a suffocating
fish, unable to process the words coming out
of his Chief’s mouth. General? The man he had
just thrown onto the concrete and handcuffed
like a common criminal was a four-star
General in the United States Army?
"Chief Harris," Adrian’s voice sliced
through the tension like a straight razor. "I
have exactly ten minutes before the final
eulogy is delivered at Grace Chapel. You will
return my belongings. You will provide a
vehicle to transport me there immediately."
"Yes, Sir! Right away, General. We are so,
so incredibly sorry—" Harris stammered,
scrambling to grab Adrian's wallet and hand it
back with shaking fingers. "This is a colossal
misunderstanding. Officer Prescott will be
suspended immediately pending a full, federal
investigation. I swear to you, we will make this
right."
"A misunderstanding implies a mistake
made in good faith," Adrian replied coldly,
adjusting the torn lapel of his suit. He stepped
was standing at attention, watching in
absolute shock as the General strode through
the building.
Chief Harris personally drove Adrian
back to Grace Chapel, breaking every speed
limit in the city, the siren wailing as they tore
through the streets. They pulled up to the front
of the church just as the choir began to sing
the final hymn.
Adrian exited the cruiser before it had
fully stopped. He did not look back. He walked
up the wooden steps, pushed open the heavy
oak doors, and stepped into the sanctuary.
The church was packed to the rafters.
Hundreds of heads turned at the sound of the
doors opening. There were gasps from the
congregation as they saw him—his suit
covered in dust and ripped at the shoulder, a
nasty, bleeding scrape stretching across his
right cheek. But his posture was flawless, his
presence commanding the entire room.
Denise, sitting in the front row with tears
streaming down her face, let out a choked sob
of relief and ran down the aisle, throwing her
arms around her uncle's neck. Adrian held her
tightly, closing his eyes, letting the anger of the
past hour drain away, replaced entirely by the
profound sorrow of his loss.
"My brother," Adrian began, his
powerful voice filling the small church
without the need for a microphone, "was a
soldier. He fought battles overseas that most
people in this town could never comprehend.
But the hardest battles he fought were the
quiet ones. The ones he fought alone."
He paused, looking down at the casket, a
single tear finally breaking free and tracking
down his uninjured cheek.
"He taught me what true bravery looks
like. It isn't found in the stars on a uniform or
the authority of a badge. True bravery is
enduring the cruelties of this world with your
head held high, and your spirit unbroken.
Today, I was reminded that the uniform does
not make the man; the character makes the
man. James Bennett was the finest man I have
ever known. And I will spend the rest of my
life ensuring that his honor, and the honor of
every person who walks these streets, is
fiercely protected."
Adrian stepped down from the pulpit
and walked to the casket. He placed his hand
gently on the folded American flag. He stood
there for a long time, the silence of the church
wrapping around him, mourning the little
brother he loved, and silently declaring a new
war on the