She stepped forward, reaching into her alligator-skin handbag and pulling out a slender leather checkbook along with a montblanc pen.
"We are willing to be generous, Colonel Hart," Margaret said smoothly, opening the checkbook against her palm. "We recognize that a military pension isn't particularly lavish. We will pay for Emily’s medical care, cover a three-month stay at a private wellness retreat in Sedona, and provide a modest separation allowance. All she needs to do is sign a standard non-disclosure agreement stating that her injuries were accidental."
She held out the pen.
I looked down at the gold nib. Then I looked up into Margaret Prescott’s cold, blue eyes.
Without a word, I reached out, took the Montblanc pen from her hand, and snapped it in two with a clean, sharp crack. The dark blue ink bled out over the polished floor, splashing across the toe of Margaret’s beige designer heels.
Margaret gasped, stepping back as if I had pulled a weapon. "You insane woman!"