Chapter 9 - THE ACCOUNTING
Z
Two weeks later.
The Carolina sun was warm, burning off the late morning fog over the courthouse plaza.
I stood on the marble steps wearing my Army Service Uniform, the silver oak leaf gleaming brightly on my collar, flanked by Sarah Lin and my mother, who was sitting in a wheelchair, her arm still in a sling but her chin held high.
A convoy of federal vehicles was parked at the curb.
The heavy brass doors of the courthouse opened, and Mason Vance was led out in handcuffs and leg shackles, flanked by four federal marshals. He wore an orange jumpsuit, his head bowed, his former arrogance completely stripped away. Behind him came former Sheriff Marcus Miller and State Senator Richard Hayes, both looking ruined and broken.
The press corps erupted into a frenzy of camera flashes and shouted questions.
Mason paused at the top of the steps, looking up. For a brief moment, his eyes met mine.
There was no victory in my gaze. Only the steady, unyielding judgment of a promise kept.
"Lieutenant Colonel Turner!" a reporter shouted, pushing a microphone toward me. "Is it true that the federal grand jury returned fifty-four counts of racketeering, arson, and public corruption against Vance Enterprises?"
"The U.S. Attorney's office will be making a formal statement at noon," I said calmly into the bank of microphones. "What I can tell you is that every property illegally seized by Vance Enterprises will be restored to its rightful owners. Every fraudulent debt has been erased."
"And what about Turner's Diner?" another reporter asked. "It was completely destroyed."
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I looked down at my mother, who reached up and took my hand, squeezing it with all the strength she had left.
"A building is just wood and brick," my mother said, her voice clear and strong, carrying over the crowd of reporters. "The diner wasn't the building. It was the people inside it. And we're going to rebuild. Better than before."
