My Cult-Leader Brother Called Me A Lowly Flu-Shot Nurse At Our Council Luncheon — Then A Two-Star General Saluted Me As Colonel
Caleb stormed out of his office, his face a mask of barely controlled rage. He bellowed orders into his comms unit.
“Lock down the logistics park! No vehicles in or out! Especially not the transport trucks near the clinic!”
He turned to a cluster of cult security guards. “Seal off the medical depot. Nothing leaves without my personal authorization! I want Hannah Finch’s equipment seized. Every last piece.”
Word reached me almost instantly. My specialized surgical modules, prepped for immediate transport to Luke Air Force Base, were now held hostage. The very trucks needed to move them were impounded.
General Albright, standing beside me at the perimeter of the logistics park, listened to the report with a grim set to her jaw.
“He’s filed an emergency civil lien,” she stated, reading from a document one of her aides handed her. “Claims you owe the Sanctum one point two million dollars in ‘upbringing costs.'”
I scoffed. “My parents signed away all rights when I joined the Air Force Academy at eighteen. And every penny I’ve ever made was documented.”
“He’s trying to bleed the clock,” Albright said, looking at her watch. “Delay us until the launch window passes. These are standard delay tactics for local jurisdictions.”
She looked at her military police escort, two hulking figures in dark fatigues and body armor. “Sergeant, get your team ready. Give them fifteen minutes to release the equipment. If they don’t, we’re breaching the compound gates by force.”
The sergeant nodded, his face unreadable. He began barking orders into his headset. The military police moved with practiced efficiency, forming a tight perimeter around the main gate, their stances radiating silent menace.
I saw the local sheriff’s deputies, who had been attempting to mediate, step back nervously. They looked pale, caught between the heavily armed military and Caleb’s frantic demands.
Caleb himself stood near the gates, arguing with one of the deputies, completely unaware of the precise deadline ticking down. He was shouting about cult sovereignty, about federal overreach.
He was so consumed by his own petty revenge, he couldn’t see the larger threat closing in. The deadline was a physical thing, counting down not just to a breach, but to the potential failure of my mission.
I watched as one of the military police raised a heavy breaching tool, testing its weight. The glint of sunlight on its metal was a stark contrast to the tranquil, manicured lawns of the Sanctum.
The fifteen minutes had begun.
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