Chapter 8 - The Shadow Over Chase
The upscale loft in downtown Richmond had cost Chase Vance four thousand dollars a month.
It featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the James River, imported bamboo flooring, and minimalist leather furniture that screamed young wealth.
Now, the loft looked like a tactical raid zone.
Six agents from the Army Criminal Investigation Division, wearing tactical vests over windbreakers, methodically dismantled Chase’s pristine life.
Hard drives were pulled from his custom desktop computer.
Bank binders, real estate contracts, and leather-bound deployment journals were cataloged into clear evidence bags.
Chase sat on his velvet sofa, his hands locked in federal handcuffs behind his back, staring at his bare feet on the hardwood floor.
Two FBI special agents stood near the kitchen island, drinking water from plastic bottles while examining a framed certificate hanging on the brick wall.
The certificate was a commendation from the Virginia Chamber of Commerce, praising Chase Vance for "Exceptional Bravery and Leadership in Foreign Combat Zones."
Special Agent David Torres walked over to the sofa, holding a digital tablet in his hand.
"Interesting paperwork you filed with your commercial mortgage broker two years ago, Chase," Agent Torres said, his tone dry and professional.
"You checked the box indicating you were a combat-disabled veteran."
"You secured a zero-down VA loan guarantee worth eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars on this penthouse."
Chase swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper.
"My mother handled that paperwork," Chase whimpered, not daring to lift his chin.
"I just signed where she told me to sign."
"Is that right?" Agent Torres replied, sitting on the corner of the low glass coffee table directly in front of him.
"Did your mother also tell you to collect eighty-two thousand dollars in Combat-Related Special Compensation from the Veterans Benefits Administration?"
"Did she tell you to claim you sustained bilateral lumbar trauma during an insurgent ambush?"
"I do have back pain!" Chase yelled, sudden terror making his voice high and shrill.
"I hurt my back when the helicopter hit the riverbed!"
Agent Torres pulled up a high-resolution satellite overlay on the tablet and held it in front of Chase’s eyes.
"You hurt your back because you jumped out of the side hatch while the aircraft was still six feet in the air, Chase."
"You jumped before the wounded were unbuckled."
"And then you took off your tactical vest, ditched the PRC-117 satellite uplink in a ravine, and crawled into a drainage ditch twenty yards away from the defensive line."
Chase shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out the glowing screen.
"Stop showing me that."
"Ryan Hale went into that ravine to get your radio, Chase," Agent Torres continued, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper.
"The enemy saw his silhouette because the transmitter’s battery indicator light was flashing."
"They opened up on him with an RPK machine gun."
"He took two rounds through his ceramic side plate."
"Do you know what he told Captain Ellis while he was bleeding out on the floorboards?"
"I don't know!" Chase sobbed, shaking his head frantically.
"I don't want to know!"
"He told her: 'Don't let them tell my dad I died for nothing. Tell him we held the line.'"
Agent Torres leaned in until his face was inches from Chase’s ear.
"Ryan gave his life so Captain Ellis could call in an airstrike to save you."
"And you spent the last seven years using his sacrifice to get discounted mortgages, country club dinners, and promotions at an investment bank."
The front door of the loft swung open.
Arthur Ellis walked in, flanked by an armed federal marshal who had allowed him entry to retrieve personal property.
Arthur stopped in the entryway, looking at his stepson sitting on the couch in handcuffs, surrounded by federal agents.
Arthur’s face was sunken, his eyes completely hollow.
"Arthur!" Chase cried out, his face lighting up with a flicker of hope.
"Arthur, tell them! Tell them Vivian and I would never commit fraud! Call our lawyers!"
Arthur walked slowly into the center of the living room, stopping three feet from the couch.
He didn't look angry.
He looked utterly broken, like a man who had walked through the ruins of his own home after a fire.
"I looked through the study safe this morning, Chase," Arthur said, his voice quiet, flat, and dead.
"I found the letters."
Chase froze, the blood draining from his face once more.
"Arthur, wait... those were private..."
"Letters from the Department of Defense from six years ago," Arthur continued, ignoring him.
"Letters addressed to your mother, warning her that your discharge status was under administrative review for discrepancy in field reports."
"Your mother used her family's trust fund to hire a private lobbyist in Washington to bury the inquiry before it reached my desk."
Arthur took a deep breath, his hands trembling as he shoved them into his coat pockets.
"I sold my mother’s family farm five years ago, Chase."
"Vivian told me we needed the cash to pay off a bridge loan for your commercial portfolio."
"She didn't use that money for an investment."
"She used that two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to pay off a consultant to suppress your desertion file."
Chase began to weep again, pulling his knees up toward his chest as far as his handcuffs would allow.
"She was trying to protect me, Arthur! She loved me!"
"She didn't love you, Chase," Arthur said, tears finally falling down his wrinkled cheeks.
"She loved her reflection in you."
"She loved having a hero son to parade in front of her friends."
"And I... God forgive me... I let her trade my real child, my flesh and blood, for a fake statue of a soldier."
Arthur turned his back on Chase.
"Arthur! Don't leave me here!" Chase screamed, thrashing against the sofa cushions.
"Arthur, you're the only father I have left! Please!"
May you like
Arthur Ellis didn't answer.
He walked out of the penthouse without taking a single belonging, leaving Chase Vance alone with the federal agents who were about to take away his freedom forever.
