In 1973 Virginia, quiet Army Major Elizabeth Halloway is falsely accused of wearing stolen military uniform by her former mentor, facing illegal arrest and gaslighting before fate intervenes.
“Colonel Danforth,” I called out, my voice strained through the closed window of the cruiser. “My trench coat! My left pocket!”
Danforth’s eyes darted to mine, then to the trench coat I still wore, draped over my shoulders despite the handcuffs. He understood.
“Don’t even think about it!” Pendelton shouted, adjusting his aim slightly towards Danforth’s chest. “Any sudden moves, and I swear…”
Danforth slowly, deliberately, reached into my left trench coat pocket. His fingers fumbled for a moment, then he withdrew a small, leather-bound book.
It was my father’s old field Bible, given to him during his own service in Korea. I’d carried it for good luck, a small anchor to family in the chaos of deployment.
Danforth held the Bible open in his hand, a thin, yellowed piece of paper fluttering from between its pages. The paper was folded once, creased down the middle.
“What is that?” Pendelton demanded, his voice edged with panic.
Danforth carefully unfolded the document. It was a formal letter, printed on heavy stock. The official crest of the Department of the Army was emblazoned at the top, just above the year: “1968.”
He began to read aloud, his voice steady against the rising wind. “‘To whom it may concern: Be it known that by direction of the President, Major Elizabeth Halloway is hereby commissioned in the United States Army with the rank of Major, effective December 15th, 1968…'”
The words echoed in the tense silence, punctuated only by the drumming rain and the strange rumble from the sky. My breath hitched. I had completely forgotten that letter was in there. It was tucked into a passage my father had marked years ago.
Pendelton’s face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated rage and disbelief. His knuckles were white around the grip of his revolver.
“That’s impossible!” he shrieked, his voice cracking. “That document is… is a fake!”
But it wasn’t. The ink, though faded, was authentic. The signature, an impressive flourish, was that of a general I recognized from historical archives.
Danforth slowly turned the letter so Pendelton could see it. “This bears every mark of an original Department of the Army commission, Major. Dated 1968. It predates your alleged ‘discharge’ by three years. And it proves Major Halloway’s active rank beyond any doubt.”
Kincaid looked at Pendelton, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Treadwell was shaking his head, a low moan escaping his lips. Pendelton’s lie, so carefully constructed, had just unraveled right before their eyes.
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