Chapter 5 - The Flashing Red Lights
For three agonizing minutes, nobody in the Oakridge dining hall dared to breathe.
Emily grabbed a paper napkin, quietly wiping the greasy stew from her forehead and eyes.
Brianna was trembling, her expensive sneakers rooted to the floor.
“It’s a prank,” Brianna’s friend Chloe whispered, backing away slowly. “Emily’s last name is Ross, not Carter!”
Emily didn’t correct her.
She didn’t need to explain that Eleanor Carter had remarried six years ago after Emily’s father passed.
She didn’t need to explain that Emily kept her biological father’s name to protect her privacy.
Suddenly, the heavy double oak doors of the academy’s main courtyard blasted open.
The sound of wailing sirens echoed outside, followed by the screech of heavy tires on wet gravel.
Through the tall arched windows, three black armored Suburbans roared onto the manicured grass.
They didn’t park in the visitor bays; they drove straight onto the decorative private garden.
Behind them came two marked State Highway Patrol interceptors with their strobes blinding the windows.
Oakridge security guards ran toward the vehicles, hands raised, eyes wide with terror.
Four armed agents wearing tactical suits and earpieces stepped out of the lead vehicle.
They bypassed the security station entirely, kicking open the double glass doors of the main foyer.
Headmaster Thorne sprinted into the dining hall from the administration wing, his tie crooked.
“What is happening? What is the meaning of this commotion?!” Harold bellowed.
The lead agent stepped forward, flashing a federal-executive credentials badge.
“Executive Protection Detail for Governor Carter,” the agent announced loudly.
“Secure every exit immediately.”
“No faculty, staff, or student leaves this perimeter until the Governor concludes her inspection.”
Harold Thorne’s jaw dropped so low his dentures nearly clicked loose.
“The... the Governor? Here?”
Before Harold could take another step, the back door of the center Suburban swung open.
A woman stepped onto the rain-slicked asphalt wearing a charcoal-tailored power suit.
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Eleanor Carter was fifty-two years old, with silver-streaked hair tied in an impeccable low bun.
She looked through the glass doors of the dining hall, and her eyes were colder than deep space.
