If those bees attack my uncle one more time, the old keeper will be dragged away in chains for treason, my cousin whispered as we stood on the portico of Elmwood Manor.
The silence that followed Dr. Finch’s revelations was deafening, broken only by the rustle of newspapers as the tribunal members devoured the shocking headlines. Colonel Harrison, his face thunderous, slowly lowered the *Washington Daily Chronicle*.
He fixed his gaze on Julian Montgomery, who had shrunk in his seat, his eyes darting frantically around the room, searching for an escape that wasn’t there. Major Pryce, next to him, looked utterly defeated, his face ashen.
“Julian Montgomery,” Colonel Harrison’s voice boomed, slicing through the tension. “By the authority invested in this Military Commission, and based on the overwhelming evidence of medical fraud, attempted murder, and conspiracy to commit treason, I hereby order your immediate arrest.”
Two federal marshals moved swiftly, pulling Julian from his chair. He tried to protest, a garbled sound escaping his lips, but the marshals were unyielding, clamping heavy iron wrist-shackles around his wrists. The metallic click echoed ominously.
“Major Donald Pryce,” Colonel Harrison continued, his voice now laced with disgust, “for military fraud, receiving bribes, and obstruction of justice, you are likewise placed under arrest.”
Another marshal stepped forward, roughly tearing the rank insignia from Pryce’s uniform. The gold braid ripped away, leaving ragged threads. Pryce hung his head, stripped of his authority and dignity in front of his peers.
The two men, once powerful and arrogant, were led away, their shackles clanking. As they passed through the parlor doors, a crowd of cheering wounded soldiers and nurses, who had gathered outside, erupted in a spontaneous ovation. Justice, swift and undeniable, had been served.
I watched them go, a profound sense of relief washing over me. Ebenezer Holloway, standing beside me, quietly squeezed my hand, his eyes filled with gratitude.
Dr. Finch, looking weary but satisfied, made his way to General Silas Montgomery’s quarters. He explained everything, and the General, though weak, listened with a growing clarity.
Relieved of the daily toxic doses of aconitine, General Silas began drinking fresh, clean water under Dr. Finch’s careful supervision. He looked at me, a flicker of his old, stern self returning to his eyes.
“Nurse Albright,” he rasped, his voice weak but firm. “My sincerest apologies for my foolishness. And my deepest thanks for your courage.”
He then, with Dr. Finch’s assistance, dictated a formal revocation of all land transfer filings, immediately restoring his control over Elmwood Manor and nullifying Julian’s fraudulent claims. The estate, and the lives it sustained, were safe.
The nightmare was over.
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