He looked past her, across the rows of desks, locking his dark slate-gray eyes directly onto the eight-year-old girl sitting in the corner.
A slow, warm, unyielding smile broke across the Marine’s face:
“Good morning, Clara,” Ben said.
Clara flew out of her chair.
Her sneakers barely touched the floorboards as she threw her arms around her father’s neck, burying her face into the dark wool of his uniform:
“Daddy!” she sobbed: “You came!
You brought Scout!”
Ben lifted his eight-year-old daughter into his arms, resting her against his chest, his calloused hand smoothing her hair:
“I told you last night, sweetheart,” Ben whispered into her ear:
“You told the truth.”
“And a Marine never leaves his post when the truth is under fire.”
CHAPTER 3: THE REVERSE PERSPECTIVE OF AN AUDIT
Ms.
Harrow stepped forward, her face flushing crimson with volcanic, bureaucratic rage:
“Staff Sergeant Reed!
Put that child down immediately!
