Marcus: Captain Hayes, have you lost your mind[cite: 1]?!
Sarah: Stand down, Mr. Sterling[cite: 1].
Marcus: You are saluting a vagrant trespasser who doesn't even have a valid press pass[cite: 1]!
Sarah: I am saluting a superior officer, sir[cite: 1].
Marcus: A superior officer? He's wearing forty-dollar work boots and carrying a camera that belongs in a dumpster[cite: 1]!
Caleb: These boots have walked places your Italian loafers would melt in, Marcus[cite: 1].
Marcus: Don't you dare speak my first name, you filthy drifter[cite: 1]!
Caleb: I remember when your father called me to bail your defense supply firm out of bankruptcy ten years ago[cite: 1].
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks, his arrogant smirk instantly freezing on his face[cite: 1].
Marcus: How do you know about my father's private financing[cite: 1]?
Caleb: Because I signed the authorization check on the back of a tactical map in Kandahar[cite: 1].
Sarah: Colonel Caleb Vance... Commander of Task Force Blackwood[cite: 1].
Caleb: That name belongs to another lifetime, Captain Hayes. Keep your hand down[cite: 1].
Sarah lowered her arm slowly, though her spine remained as stiff as an iron rod[cite: 1].
Sarah: My older brother was Lieutenant Thomas Hayes, sir[cite: 1].
Caleb's eyes softened, a faint shadow of grief passing over his weathered face[cite: 1].
Caleb: Thomas was a brave scout. He held the ridge so thirty men could walk to the helicopter[cite: 1].
Sarah: You pulled him out of that burning armored carrier with your bare hands, Colonel[cite: 1].
Caleb: I did what any commander owes his men[cite: 1].
Marcus: What kind of rehearsed military nonsense is this[cite: 1]?!
Marcus laughed loudly, adjusting the cuffs of his navy suit as two of his corporate security guards joined him[cite: 1].
Marcus: Colonel Caleb Vance died in an operational crash six years ago! The whole state of Texas held a memorial service for him[cite: 1]!
Caleb: The Pentagon announced what was convenient for national security, Marcus[cite: 1].
Marcus: You're an identity thief trying to shake down my company before our drone contracts get finalized today[cite: 1]!
Sarah: Watch your tone, Mr. Sterling. The tattoo on his arm is registered in classified archives[cite: 1].
Marcus: Anyone can pay a tattoo artist fifty bucks to copy a special forces insignia, Captain[cite: 1]!
Caleb: Can anyone copy the operational serial number etched under the third red stripe, Marcus[cite: 1]?
Marcus looked down at Caleb's rolled sleeve, his arrogant expression cracking slightly around the eyes[cite: 1].
Marcus: I don't care about ink on skin! You're standing on restricted federal ground without credentials[cite: 1]!
Caleb: I have all the credentials I need right here in this black binder[cite: 1].
Caleb tapped the worn leather cover resting on his forearm, watching Marcus's guards shift nervously[cite: 1].
Marcus: Grab that bag from him! Check what kind of contraband he's trying to sneak onto the flight line[cite: 1]!
Sarah: Take one step toward him, and I will have base security arrest you for assaulting a decorated veteran[cite: 1]!
Marcus: I pay for this base's communications grid, Captain! You answer to civilian oversight[cite: 1]!
Sarah: I answer to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, Mr. Sterling[cite: 1].
Caleb: Let him look, Captain Hayes. Let him see what his father left behind[cite: 1].
Caleb flipped the heavy binder open to a certified page stamped with a dark crimson Department of Defense seal[cite: 1].
Marcus leaned forward, his sneer vanishing as his gaze locked onto the bold black letters printed across the header[cite: 1].