“The platform party is taking their places on stage.”

“Thank you, General,” I said.

“Remember what you wrote on that yellow pad,” Vance said, nodding toward the papers in my hand.

“Command isn’t inherited.

It’s forged through service.”

I took a slow, deep breath, moved the yellow pages to my left hand, and squared my shoulders.

I put my hand on the brass handrail of the door leading to the main stage.

I pulled the heavy door open and walked past the black velvet curtain into the blinding morning sun.