My Cult-Leader Brother Called Me A Lowly Flu-Shot Nurse At Our Council Luncheon — Then A Two-Star General Saluted Me As Colonel
I walked directly into Caleb’s office, the air outside still thick with the tension of the military stand-off at the gate. My footsteps echoed on the polished floor.
Behind me, two USAF Security Forces Airmen stood guard, their presence silent but commanding. One carried a federal seizure warrant, clearly visible in his gloved hand.
Caleb wasn’t there. His office felt empty, cold. I went straight to the large, unassuming server rack hidden in a recessed panel behind a painting of Elder Thomas. It was the enclave’s telecom server, the central nervous system of its communications.
I pulled out a small, specialized master override key from my flight suit pocket. The Airmen watched, their faces unreadable.
With a definitive click, I inserted the key into the server’s diagnostic port. The lights on the rack flickered, then settled into a steady green hum.
“Caleb Finch’s external internet access is now severed,” I announced to the room, my voice flat. “All outgoing bank transfers disabled. All remote access to enclave accounts terminated.”
Just as I pulled the key out, the office door burst open. Caleb stood there, his face contorted in a sneer, a triumphant glint in his eyes.
He didn’t seem fazed by the Airmen or the warrant. He just looked at me, a smug smile spreading across his face.
“You think you’re clever, Hannah?” he scoffed. “Cutting off my access? A little late for that.”
He stepped further into the room, his gaze sweeping over the server rack. “Even if you leave right now, Hannah, you’ve already lost.”
He laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “I put your proprietary space-medicine research patents up for bid on a private offshore portal two hours ago. They’re going for one point five million dollars. And the winning bid is already in.”
My blood ran cold. My research. The work of years, dedicated to zero-g surgical techniques, cryo-stasis protocols, and orbital trauma care. My intellectual property.
“You can’t,” I breathed, the word a raw whisper.
“Oh, but I can,” Caleb taunted, his eyes glittering with malice. “Consider it my going-away present. You want to abandon your family and your faith for your little military hobby? Fine. But it’ll cost you everything.”
He folded his arms, an arrogant smirk back on his face. “One point five million dollars, Hannah. Straight into my untraceable offshore account. What are you going to do about that now, Colonel?”
The Airmen remained impassive, but my jaw clenched. This wasn’t just about money. This was an attack on my entire life’s work, a fundamental violation.
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