A White Mercedes Pulled Up to Gate Six on a Tuesday Afternoon Without a Permit
I did not turn around.
Vivian stopped close enough that I could see the thread in her collar and the small gold clasp on her chain.
“You have no idea who you are dealing with.”
“I know you need a permit,” I said.
Her mouth tightened.
“You are military trash, a cheap little disgrace wearing a uniform.”
I kept my eyes level.
I did not raise my hand to my face.