Chapter 4 - The Defective Shield
The air inside the alcove grew suffocatingly thin as Trevor backed against the damask wallpaper.
His hands were visibly shaking as he shoved them into his tuxedo pockets to hide the tremor.
“That is a lie,” Trevor stammered, his voice rising in pitch like a cornered animal.
“The Aegis Shield guidance telemetry passed every single factory benchmark in our Chicago plant.”
I stepped toward Trevor, allowing the full weight of my rank and experience to bear down on him.
Trevor shrank back, his bravado dissolving into pathetic, sweating anxiety.
“You ran those benchmarks at room temperature in a climate-controlled cleanroom, Trevor,” I stated with clinical precision.
“You bypassed the supersonic friction chamber simulations because the ceramic housings cracked on the first three runs.”
“You knew the heat dissipation algorithms failed whenever the interceptor exceeded Mach 6.”
Arthur looked between Trevor and me, the color rapidly draining from his wrinkled face.
“Trevor,” Arthur commanded, his voice trembling with newfound horror.
“Tell her she is mistaken.”
Trevor swallowed hard, looking at the carpet, unable to meet his father’s searching eyes.
“Dad, we were running out of capital,” Trevor whined, trying to justify his treason.
“The prototype deadlines were suffocating us, and the board was threatening a hostile takeover.”
“I was going to patch the thermal software after we secured the initial forty-percent funding release!”
Arthur’s hand shot out, grabbing Trevor by the lapels of his tuxedo and shaking him with violent rage.
“You idiot!” Arthur roared in a hushed, furious scream.
“You submitted falsified engineering certifications to the Department of Defense?”
“Do you know what federal investigators do to defense contractors who lie on military bids?”
Evelyn grabbed Arthur’s arms, trying to pull him off her son.
“Arthur, stop it! Not here! People will hear you!” she hissed, glancing frantically toward the main hall.
“Quiet, woman!” Arthur snarled, shoving Trevor back against the wall.
The proud billionaire was unraveling before my very eyes, watching his house of cards collapse under the weight of his own greed.
Twenty-six years ago, Arthur told me Trevor was a visionary genius who would take Mercer Tech to the stars.
He had cast out his flesh and blood for an incompetent fraud who had just handed their entire family a federal indictment.
Arthur turned back toward me, his eyes wide, pleading with a pathetic intensity that made my stomach churn.
“Kate... Katherine, please,” Arthur begged, taking a step toward me with his palms open.
“You are my daughter.”
“The Mercer name is your name, too.”
“If this scandal breaks, your own bloodline will be dragged through the mud.”
“You can reclassify the audit report; you have the authority as Directorate Chief!”
“Give us ninety days to fix the microprocessors, and I will name you equal partner in the firm tomorrow.”
I looked at the man who called himself my father, feeling nothing but profound pity.
“You still do not understand, do you, Arthur?” I whispered softly.
“You think everything in this world has a price tag attached to it.”
“You think honor can be bought with stock options, and that loyalty can be summoned after twenty-six years of abandonment.”
“My name is not Mercer Defense Tech.”
“My name is Katherine Mercer, and the only family I owe loyalty to are the men and women wearing the uniform of this nation.”
Arthur’s face contorted in agony as he realized that no amount of money could sway my conscience.
“I watched eighteen-year-old soldiers bleed out in the dirt of foreign deserts, Arthur,” I continued, the steel in my voice cutting deep.
“They died trusting that their rifles would fire, that their armor would hold, and that their commanders were honest men.”
“I will never let a corrupt contractor send my troops into harm’s way with a defective shield just to save your stock price.”
Trevor suddenly pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb rapidly scrolling through his screen.
“You think you have won, General?” Trevor hissed, his cowardice turning into desperate, cornered malice.
“I know how this town works.”
“I just sent a message to the defense editor at the Washington Post.”
“By midnight, the story will be that a disgruntled, estranged daughter used her military position to launch a vendetta against her father’s company.”
Trevor sneered, stepping closer with a triumphant, twisted grin.
“Let us see how long your shiny stars stay on your shoulders when the press calls you a vindictive, corrupt bureaucrat.”
I did not move.
I did not blink.
I merely reached into my pocket and touched the recording device that had been live-streaming our entire conversation to the Inspector General’s office.
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“Trevor,” I said quietly, “you have just committed extortion and attempted bribery inside the White House.”
“I suggest you look toward the doorway.”
