“This stadium built its reputation on merit, Colonel Mitchell.

Nobody buys a front-row seat on this parade field.”

“I know, General.”

“Your address is scheduled for seventeen minutes,” he said, turning the page.

“The stage crew set the podium microphone for your height, and the dark blue ribbons are fastened to the front crest.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Will your mother be sitting next to your father?” Vance asked.

“She’ll be in Row 1, Seat 4,” I said.