The café was quiet, a small, independent spot far from the usual Hollywood haunts. Officer Marcus Ruiz sat across from me, his uniform replaced by a casual polo shirt, his face etched with a tension I hadn’t seen at the gas station. He’d agreed to meet after Miller’s contact reached out.
I slid a crisp, official-looking document across the table. It was my Certificate of Release or Discharge from Active Duty, DD Form 214, along with commendation letters and my Major’s insignia orders, all notarized and authenticated.
“This is my record, Officer Ruiz,” I said, my voice low and steady. “Every commendation, every deployment. My honorable discharge. Everything Chloe Bennett said about me was a lie.”
He picked up the document, his eyes scanning the official seals. His jaw tightened. He didn’t meet my gaze at first, just ran a thumb over the raised insignia.
“She told me you’d been court-martialed for insubordination,” Ruiz said, his voice rough. “Said you were using the uniform for personal gain after an adverse separation. She presented what looked like official communication.”
He looked up then, his eyes locked on mine. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “I acted on what I believed was credible information, Major Kincaid. Information I now know was fabricated.”
The weight of his admission hung in the air. He hadn’t just made a mistake; he’d been used. The physical confrontation at the gas station, his rough hand on my arm, all of it fueled by a lie.
“I understand,” I said, though my gut churned. “But the consequences of that lie have been devastating for me.”
“I know,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper. He pushed the documents back to me. “I don’t expect your forgiveness, Major. But I do believe in justice. And what she did to you, to me, it’s not right.”
He paused, then leaned forward, his voice dropping. “My captain knows I’ve been looking into this. He’s not happy. But I have access to certain archives, legal documents that aren’t public record. Especially where film rights involve military-themed productions.”
A jolt went through me. This was it. A flicker of possibility in the darkness Chloe had cast.
“The studio was founded by my late grandfather, General Michael Kincaid,” I told him, a thought forming. “He was a stickler for honor, for military integrity. I remember my father mentioning something about a trust, a legacy, tied to the studio. Something about ‘keeping the vision pure.'”
Ruiz nodded slowly. “Sometimes, in those old trusts, especially with military families, there are clauses. Conditions. Restrictions that people forget about over time.” He paused, a new resolve in his eyes. “I’ll look into it. The General’s estate. Anything tied to the studio’s original charter.”
“Thank you, Officer Ruiz,” I said, a faint tremor in my voice. It wasn’t just about clearing my name anymore. It was about exposing Chloe for the fraud she was, using the very systems she had corrupted against her.
+ There are no comments
Add yours