Chapter 12 - The Fight Had Its Own Record
The ballroom video made the physical incident easy.
Mason shoved me first.
I fell.
He grabbed my collar.
I broke free and shoved him into the table.
He charged.
I punched him.
Then took him down.
The reviewing officer showed me the footage once.
“That accurate?”
“Yes.”
“Any part you dispute?”
“No.”
“Do you believe your punch was necessary to protect yourself at that moment?”
I watched Mason stagger forward in the paused frame.
I could have moved.
Could have backed away.
Could have waited for security.
“I was angry.”
The officer nodded.
“That wasn't the question.”
“No.”
I looked at the image.
“I don't know whether it was necessary.”
He wrote.
Mason's conduct review was separate because he had authority and had initiated the confrontation.
Mine still belonged to me.
I gave my statement.
Signed it.
No speech.
On the way out, I saw Mason waiting for his interview.
He looked at the paper in my hand.
“You done?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“The truth.”
He almost smiled.
“That phrase has become threatening.”
“Good.”
He nodded.
Then:
“I told them I removed you from the guest list.”
“Also true.”
“That I grabbed the tags.”
“Yes.”
“Shoved you.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't say you were trespassing.”
I looked at him.
“Were you going to?”
He hesitated.
At the gala, maybe.
Before the tags.
Before Hale.
Maybe he would have called my entrance unauthorized and turned the entire thing into access control.
“I thought about it.”
“Thank you for the confession of almost being worse.”
He laughed once.
Then became serious.
“My lawyer is going to hate me talking to you.”
“Then stop.”
He did.
I walked past.
Three steps later he said:
“Rachel.”
I turned.
He stayed where he was.
“The first year of Return Track…”
I waited.
“I did believe you were helping me.”
“That sentence is dangerously close to asking for something.”
He nodded.
“Never mind.”
Good.
He kept it.
My phone buzzed outside.
Andrew Vale.
Last of the original six.
I answered.
“Hey.”
“General Hale called.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I don't want my name public.”
“Historical?”
“Yes.”
“Wall?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Andrew laughed.
“Because my second wife thinks military plaques are ugly.”
I laughed so hard I had to sit on the hallway bench.
“Seriously?”
“Partly.”
“What's the real reason?”
“That is the real reason.”
I stopped.
Right.
Not every choice needed excavation.
Andrew continued:
“I have my job. My family. My leg works. My shoulder doesn't. Life is boring.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Then:
“Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“Are you putting yours back?”
I looked toward the ballroom doors.
Still closed.
“Not today.”
“Good answer.”
“Why?”
“Because it's today.”
May you like
He hung up.
That was enough.
