Chapter 2 - The Ghosts of Fort Campbell
The cabin’s wood stove crackled, casting dancing shadows over the walls lined with old unit photos: eight young men in desert camo, covered in dust, grinning like they owned the world. Jax leaned against the mantel, beer in hand, pointing to one of the pictures as he filled Mia in on the history.
“That’s us in Kandahar, 2009. Took out a Taliban cell that’d been ambushing supply convoys for six months. Daniel got shot in the leg pulling Rio out of a burning Humvee. Got a Silver Star for it, though he never wears the damn thing.”
Daniel didn’t look up from cleaning his old M9 pistol, the same one he’d carried through four tours. “Didn’t do it for the medal. Did it ‘cause Rio’s an idiot who can’t drive worth a damn.”
A laugh came from the door, and Rio Mendez stepped inside, 5’10”, lean, his knuckles still scraped raw from a fight at the country club. Behind him, seven-year-old Jake Prescott clung to his hand, his Easter basket slung over his shoulder, his face pale but his eyes wide when he saw Daniel.
“Grandpa!” Jake yelled, letting go of Rio’s hand and running across the cabin. He threw his arms around Daniel’s neck, then froze when he saw Emma on the cot, her face swollen. “Mommy? What happened to your face?”
Emma’s lip trembled, and she held out her good arm. “I had a little accident, bug. I’m okay now. Grandpa’s here. Uncle Rio’s here. We’re all safe.”
Jake climbed onto the cot beside her, careful not to touch her ribs, and wrapped his small arms around her waist. He glared at the door like he expected Andrew to walk through it any second. “Daddy did this, didn’t he? I heard him yelling at you before I left for the hunt. I tried to make him stop, but Grandma pushed me out the door.”
Daniel’s grip on the pistol tightened until his fingers ached. He’d known Andrew was cruel, but hurting a kid who tried to protect his mom? That crossed a line no man came back from.
Rio dropped into a chair, popping open a beer. “Country club was a shitshow. Andrew sent two goons—ex-cops he pays to do his dirty work—they tried to yank Jake out of the egg hunt in front of 50 people. Told the manager they had a custody order. I flashed my old MP badge, told ‘em I was with the state’s child protection unit, and asked to see the paperwork. They didn’t have any. One of ‘em took a swing at me. I dislocated his shoulder. The other ran. Manager let me take Jake after I told him Andrew was under investigation for domestic abuse. Said he always thought that guy was a creep.”
A beep came from the corner, and a thin, bespectacled man in a hoodie stepped inside, carrying three laptops and a tangle of cables. This was Mouse, the unit’s former cyber operations specialist, now a freelance IT consultant who’d made a name for himself hacking corrupt corporations for fun.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, setting up his gear on the kitchen table. “Had to loop around the back roads to avoid Sheriff Tompkins’ units. They’ve got every main road between Belle Meade and Dickson staked out looking for Daniel’s truck. Also—” he grinned, tapping his laptop “—I hacked the Prescott mansion’s security system 20 minutes ago. Audio and video. You guys are gonna love this.”
He turned the screen around, and the cabin went quiet. On the feed, Andrew was pacing his living room, screaming into his phone at Sheriff Tompkins. “What do you mean you can’t find him? He’s driving a rusted Ford that looks like it belongs in a junkyard! How hard is it to spot? And where the hell is my son? I want every cop in this county out looking for him!”
Tompkins’ voice crackled through the speakers. “Calm down, Prescott. We’ve got APBs out. But listen—your old man-in-law’s phone pinged a military satellite 20 minutes ago. The kind only black ops units use. My dispatch got a query from the Army Criminal Investigation Division asking if there was a report of a domestic disturbance at your address today. You didn’t tell me he was that kind of retired army.”
Andrew went pale, slamming his fist on the coffee table. “So what? He’s a washed-up vet with a delusion of grandeur. He can’t do anything to me. I own this county.”
“Maybe,” Tompkins said, his voice wary. “But CID don’t care about county politics. And if those guys he called are half as bad as the ones I served with in the Marines? You might wanna lawyer up. Real good.”
Mouse muted the feed, looking at Daniel. “He’s scared. Good. Scared people make mistakes. I’m already digging into Sentinel Dynamics’ servers. This guy’s got more skeletons in his closet than a funeral home. Government contract fraud, offshore bank accounts, bribes to half the county. Give me six hours, and I’ll have enough to put him away for 20 years.”
Mia finished wrapping Emma’s rib, handing her a pain pill and a glass of water. “You need to rest. The CT scan’s on its way. If the TBI’s worse than I think, we’ll have to risk the hospital. But for now, you’re safe.”
Emma looked around the cabin—at Jax sharpening a knife in the corner, at Mouse typing furiously on his laptops, at Rio teaching Jake how to fold a paper airplane, at Daniel standing by the stove, his face hard but his eyes soft when he looked at her. For six years, she’d been alone. For six years, she’d thought no one would ever believe her, that Andrew’s money and power would always win. Now, for the first time since she’d said “I do,” she felt the tight knot of fear in her chest start to loosen.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice quiet. “All of you. I didn’t think anyone would come.”
Jax looked up, his voice gruff but kind. “You’re family, Emma. Blood or not, you’re one of us. And no one fucks with our family. Not in this county, not in any county.”
Outside, the generator rumbled to life, sending warm light flooding through the cabin windows. Somewhere on the edge of Belle Meade, Doc Carter—Mia’s older brother, the unit’s former radio operator, now a high school civics teacher with 120,000 followers on his local TikTok account—sat in his unmarked van, scrolling through the photos Mia had sent of Emma’s injuries. He hit record on his phone, his voice steady, and spoke the words that would set all of Tennessee on fire.
May you like
“Y’all know me. I talk about justice, about doing the right thing, about how the rich don’t get to play by different rules. Tonight, I got proof. This is Emma Prescott. Wife of Andrew Prescott, CEO of Sentinel Dynamics. Look at her face. This is what ‘philanthropist’ Andrew Prescott does to his wife when no one’s watching. And he’s got the sheriff, the DA, and a judge in his pocket to make sure he gets away with it. Not anymore. Stay tuned. The truth’s coming.”
He hit post, tossed his phone on the seat, and grinned. By morning, the whole world would know Andrew Prescott’s name. And not for the reasons he’d always wanted. (1,527 words)
