Trapped in a 5-Second Future: A Landlord's Cold War Trap in Arlington
👉 [Previous Decision]: You chose Option A – Ask Sergeant Kincaid to fetch her private bank book from her apartment upstairs to prove her funds are clean.
“Sergeant Kincaid,” Clara whispered, her voice barely carrying through the vent shaft, “can you do something for me, something that won’t compromise your duty?”
Kincaid leaned closer, his brow furrowed. “What is it, Mrs. Higgins?”
“My apartment is just upstairs, 1419 North Quincy,” Clara said, her gaze steady. “Inside, on my nightstand, is my private bank book, my ledger. It details every transaction, every expenditure. I need you to retrieve it. It will prove that my funds are not for ‘subversion,’ but for the care I provided.”
Kincaid hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if Holloway might suddenly reappear. “Breaking into your apartment… that’s a court-martial offense, Mrs. Higgins.”
“It’s not breaking in if you’re my representative trying to clear my name from false charges,” Clara countered, pressing her advantage. “Colonel Holloway has declared me a security risk. This ledger holds the truth. It will clear my name without you having to defy a direct order about my confinement.”
He gnawed on his lip, his eyes darting from Clara to the empty control room. The ethical dilemma was clear on his face. Finally, with a sharp nod, he straightened. “I’ll try. But I can’t be long.”
Kincaid disappeared from the vent. Clara listened, straining to hear any sound from above. Minutes stretched into an eternity in the frigid, silent chamber. She imagined him creeping through the deserted hallway, opening her apartment door, searching for the small, worn ledger.
Then, a faint thud above her head. Kincaid’s face reappeared in the vent, his hand clutching a small, leather-bound book. He dropped it carefully through the grate.
Clara snatched it up, her fingers numb from the cold. She opened the ledger to a random page. Her breath hitched. The neatly written entries detailed not only her personal savings, but clear, specific records of payments made to medical suppliers for bandages, antibiotics, and special dietary supplements—all earmarked for “Korean War Veterans’ Benevolent Fund” and paid out of her own meager income. Some entries even had official military hospital receipt numbers attached, indicating reimbursement for services the government should have provided.
This was irrefutable proof. Not only was Holloway’s smear campaign a lie, but Clara had spent her own life savings to supplement military care, fulfilling a duty the government had neglected. Holloway’s claim that her $14,500 was for subversion was a grotesque distortion.
Kincaid watched her, his expression grim. “What do you see?”
Clara held up the ledger, her hand trembling slightly, not from cold, but from indignation. “I see receipts, Sergeant. Receipts proving I bought medical supplies for wounded soldiers. Your uncle likely benefited from funds like these. This isn’t subversion; it’s service. And Holloway knew it.”
Kincaid’s eyes widened, scanning the open page from his vantage point. The sight of the official military receipts, coupled with Clara’s quiet explanation, shattered the last remnants of his loyalty to Holloway. The man he served was not just misguided; he was a liar and a monster. The implications were clear: Holloway was not protecting the country; he was exploiting it and its most vulnerable citizens.
“He… he lied,” Kincaid whispered, his voice thick with disbelief and disgust. He pulled back from the vent, his mind clearly reeling. He had his proof now, proof that resonated deeply with his own family’s history. His choice was made.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 11 to continue the story
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