My Cult-Leader Brother Called Me A Lowly Flu-Shot Nurse At Our Council Luncheon — Then A Two-Star General Saluted Me As Colonel
Inside the enclave administration office, Elder Thomas Finch slammed his hand on the polished mahogany desk.
“A two-star general, Caleb? In our dining room? What in the name of the High Council is going on?”
Caleb, perched on the corner of the desk, looked entirely too comfortable. He gestured dismissively.
“Father, it’s nothing but Hannah’s latest little charade,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “She’s been running some kind of black-market medical operation, selling our cult supplies to outsiders. She’s just using a military front to avoid local prosecution.”
Elder Thomas’s brow furrowed. “Selling our sacred tinctures? Our donated medical supplies?”
“Exactly,” Caleb lied smoothly. “That ‘orbital trauma unit’ is just a fancy name for an off-the-books clinic. She’s been diverting funds, Father. Our funds. That general is just a patsy, unknowingly assisting in her illicit activities.”
Meanwhile, I sat in the cramped rear of General Albright’s armored command vehicle, the desert heat barely held at bay by the humming air conditioning unit. The General watched me from across the small table.
I flipped open a hardened satellite terminal. Its screen glowed with a secure connection.
“Caleb froze my local operational account, General,” I reported, typing rapidly. “One hundred eighty thousand dollars.”
General Albright simply nodded, her expression unconcerned. “Expected. He’s predictable.”
“He also filed a lien on my equipment. Claims it’s cult property now.”
I entered a series of alphanumeric codes into the terminal, bypassing the local network entirely. The screen refreshed, showing my primary military compensation ledger.
“He won’t touch this,” I said, a faint echo of triumph in my voice. “My military pay structure is shielded by sovereign immunity. It’s a classified research contract, authorized directly by federal statute eight years ago.”
I looked up at General Albright. “This entire program, the specialized training, the equipment—it’s all under federal protection. Not a penny touches the enclave’s local accounts unless I specifically authorize it for a local expense.”
The General’s lips barely twitched. “Hence the frozen operational account. He found the one weak point.”
“Only a temporary inconvenience,” I confirmed, scrolling through transaction logs. “I’ve initiated a direct override to transfer emergency funds from my federal reserve to a new, secure local account. It’ll be active within the hour. No local bank can touch it.”
“Good,” Albright said, her gaze steady. “Now, let’s get that equipment. We’re on a tight schedule.”
My pay, my real purpose, had been hidden in plain sight, protected by layers of federal bureaucracy that Caleb had never even known existed. The lie he told my father was just another brick in his wall of deceit, but it wouldn’t stop me.
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