Chapter 20 - Confronting the Ghost
We didn't take the highways; we rode the fire-access trails back down the mountain, guided by thermal imaging and military GPS. Alvarez had mobilized two tactical units of federal Marshals, armed with federal arrest warrants signed directly by the Attorney General's office.
At 2:15 AM, the downtown square surrounding the historic county courthouse was swarming with police cruisers, television satellite trucks, and armed state troopers.
On the granite steps of the courthouse, flanked by a battery of microphones and high-intensity television spotlights, stood my mother.
She wore a crisp black mourning dress, a diamond brooch pinned to her lapel, her manicured fingers dabbing at eyes that shed perfectly calculated, crocodile tears. At her side stood Sheriff Higgins, his chest puffed out with false bravado, and Mayor Campbell, looking sickly pale beneath the glare of the cameras.
"My fellow citizens," Evelyn Vance spoke into the microphones, her voice trembling with theatrical grief, echoing through the square. "Tonight, my family suffered an unspeakable tragedy. My eldest daughter, Rebecca, consumed by the darkness and criminality that destroyed her military career, returned to our ancestral home in a fit of violent rage. She took the life of her younger sister, my beloved Hannah..."
"LIAR!"
A voice pierced the roar of the press corps.
The crowd of journalists, cameramen, and bystanders gasped, turning their lenses in unison toward the western edge of the plaza.
Stepping through the glare of the streetlights, walking shoulder to shoulder in full military dress uniform, were two ghosts.
Hannah Vance, alive, unharmed, her head held high, holding an ironclad federal dossier in her arms.
And beside her—myself. First Sergeant Rebecca Vance. In full combat dress, ribbons gleaming on my chest, my sidearm holstered, walking with the unbroken stride of a soldier who had survived the worst hell on earth.
The sea of reporters exploded into frantic shouting. Flashbulbs went off in blinding, strobe-like sequences.
"Hannah?!" someone screamed into a microphone. "It's Hannah Vance! She's alive!"
On the steps, Evelyn’s theatrical tears froze instantly on her cheeks. The color drained from her face, leaving her parchment-white. She gripped the podium so hard her knuckles popped through her pale skin.
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"No..." she choked out, a raw, terrified squeak barely audible over the growing roar of the crowd. "No, this is impossible!"
"Drop your weapons, deputies!" a booming loudspeaker blared from the darkness behind us as three armored Marshals' transports rolled into the square, blocking every exit. "By order of the United States Department of Justice, this area is under federal jurisdiction!"