“Colonel Mitchell,” he said, his voice low in the quiet room.

“Your mother filed a written challenge with the event committee twenty minutes ago.”

I stood straight in front of his heavy oak desk, my hands behind my back.

“On what grounds, sir?”

“She claims you misused officer quota privileges to get VIP seating for civilian guests who don’t support the institution,” Vance said.

“She asked for all family credentials issued under your name to be revoked immediately.”

Next to his brass desk clock sat a small dark blue velvet box, its lid slightly open on the green blotter.