Chapter 3 - The Notice from the Citadel
Three days after our aborted wedding reception, the honeymoon was officially canceled.
Instead of flying to Maui, Ethan and I spent Tuesday morning sitting in the stark, fluorescent-lit office of Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Vance at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar, drinking stale coffee from paper cups.
Vance was Ethan’s current squadron commander—a weathered, iron-jawed aviator with salt-and-pepper hair and a reputation for treating his pilots like family. He had also been one of the uninvited guests at our small, impromptu backyard barbecue on Sunday, where twenty of Ethan’s closest squadron mates had shown up with folding chairs, store-bought burgers, and a giant banner that read: WELCOME TO THE FAMILY, RACHEL. WE FLY WITH YOU.
Vance set a certified legal envelope down on his metal desk. The return address read Whitmore Holdings & Associates, Legal Division, Chicago.
“I’m sorry it came to this, Captain,” Vance said, his voice flat and professional. “But you need to see what your mother’s legal team filed this morning.”
Ethan picked up the envelope, slit the top with a thumb-knife, and pulled out a three-page letter. I watched his eyes scan the lines, his expression shifting from mild irritation to cold, calcified fury.
“What is it, Ethan?” I asked, leaning closer.
“She’s filing an injunction,” Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave. “And she’s petitioning the naval JAG office for an administrative review of my commission.”
I stared at him, stunned. “Your commission? What does a family dispute have to do with the Marine Corps?”
“Everything, if your mother controls the naval contractor endowments,” Vance interjected, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. “Whitmore Defense Technologies provides avionics components for half the training fleet out of Coronado. Your mother sits on the board of trustees for the Navy-Marine Corps Relief Society and the San Diego Military Advisory Council. She’s claiming that Ethan used undue influence, falsified financial disclosures regarding your background to secure military housing allowances, and—get this—exhibited ‘conduct unbecoming an officer’ by publicly disrespecting his mother at a family event.”
I felt a cold wave of nausea hit my stomach. “That’s insane. We live in a standard off-base rental. We pay our own rent. I make my own salary at the hospital.”
“Logic doesn't matter to a woman like Patricia,” Vance said grimly. “She views Ethan as company property. When a piece of property goes rogue, corporate tries to repossess it or burn it down so nobody else can use it.”
Ethan looked up from the letter, his eyes blazing with a dark, dangerous fire. He slowly laid the papers back down on the desk.
“She thinks this is a court-martial,” Ethan said softly. “She thinks she can break me by threatening my wings.”
“Can she?” I asked, my voice tight with anxiety.
Vance let out a dry, humorless bark of laughter. “Not a chance in hell, Mrs. Whitmore. JAG looked at this complaint fifteen minutes after it hit the fax machine and laughed it straight into the shredder. You can’t court-martial a Marine because his mother is a narcissistic snob throwing a tantrum. But it does mean the gloves are off. Whitmore Holdings just made this an institutional matter.”
Ethan stood up, snapping his cover onto his head with military precision.
“Colonel, request permission to take forty-eight hours of emergency leave.”
Vance nodded slowly. “Granted, Captain. And if you need a couple of F/A-18s for an airstrike on your mother’s country club, let me know. I’ll see if we can log it as a training exercise.”
As we walked out of the squadron headquarters into the glaring California sun, Ethan didn't look angry anymore. He looked terrifyingly focused.
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“Where are we going?” I asked as he unlocked the truck.
“To see my father,” Ethan said, pulling his aviator sunglasses down over his eyes. “It’s time Richard stopped hiding behind his golf clubs. If he wants a divorce from her, I’ll pay the lawyers myself. But if he keeps enabling her war against us, we’re cutting them both out with a scalpel.”
