**Part 3**
Two days later, we landed at Ramstein Air Base in Germany.
The girls were exhausted.
I had barely slept.
My new quarters would not be ready until the following afternoon, so temporary lodging had been arranged.
I expected a quiet arrival.
Instead, as soon as I stepped into the operations building, a major approached me.
“Colonel Hartwell?”
“Yes?”
“There’s a secure call waiting for you.”
“At this hour?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“From whom?”
He hesitated.
“Pentagon personnel office.”
That was unexpected.
I followed him into a secure communications room while the girls waited nearby with an assigned family liaison.
The screen activated.
A two-star general I recognized immediately appeared.
Major General Rebecca Sloan.
“Lena.”
“General.”
“Congratulations on arriving safely.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She folded her hands.
“I’ll get straight to the point.”
I waited.
“Your assignment has changed.”
My pulse shifted.
I had received no prior indication.
“In what way?”
“You’re not taking the position we originally discussed.”
That could mean twenty different things.
“Ma’am?”
She smiled slightly.
“You’ve been selected to assume command of the European Strategic Coordination Group.”
For several seconds, I said nothing.
That position was significantly larger than my original assignment.
Much larger.
“General, I wasn’t informed I was under consideration.”
“You weren’t supposed to be.”
“When was the decision made?”
“This morning.”
The timing struck me.
“May I ask why?”
“You may.”
Her expression turned serious.
“Because the outgoing commander requested you personally.”
“Who?”
“Major General Thomas Hartwell.”
I froze.
There were very few Hartwells in my family.
And only one Thomas Hartwell.
My father.
The man I had not spoken to in fourteen years.
The man my daughters believed was dead.
General Sloan watched my face carefully.
“He’s here in Germany.”
I couldn’t speak.
“He knows you arrived.”
My hands went cold.
“He asked to meet you.”
Memories flooded back faster than I could stop them.
My father’s uniform.
My mother crying.
A slammed door.
Words no child should hear.
Then fourteen years of silence.
“Why now?”
General Sloan’s expression changed.
“Because there is something you were never told about why he disappeared from your life.”
Before I could ask, someone knocked sharply on the secure-room door.
The major entered.
“Colonel, I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“What is it?”
His expression was strange.
“You have another urgent call.”
“From whom?”
“Your attorney in the United States.”
My stomach tightened.
I took the phone.
“Rachel?”
“Lena, I need you to listen carefully.”
My attorney sounded more serious than I had ever heard her.
“What happened?”
“Preston filed an emergency motion regarding custody.”
My heart stopped.
“He did what?”
“He claims he never understood the relocation provisions.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“I know.”
“Can he stop us?”
“Probably not.”
Probably.
I hated that word.
“But that isn’t the only reason I called.”
I looked through the glass at my daughters.
“What else?”
Rachel inhaled.
“Preston submitted a statement alleging you concealed material information from him during the marriage.”
“About my rank?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
Her next words changed everything.
“He says someone contacted him after you left.”
“Who?”
“A man claiming to be your father.”
My blood went cold.
“He told Preston that your family history, your military career, and even your marriage may all be connected to something Preston was never supposed to know.”
I stared toward the secure video screen where General Sloan was still waiting.
My father was in Germany.
My attorney was telling me my father had contacted my ex-husband.
And suddenly the collapse of my marriage no longer felt like the biggest secret waiting to explode.
Rachel lowered her voice.
“Lena, Preston says your father told him to ask you one question.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What question?”
She hesitated.
Then said:
“Ask Lena why Colonel Hartwell was ordered to disappear fourteen years ago—and who gave the order.”
I stopped breathing.
Because only three people had ever known there had been an order.
My father.
My mother.
And me.
And my mother had been dead for twelve years.
I slowly turned toward the secure screen.
General Sloan was no longer smiling.
Behind her, a door opened.
A silver-haired man in Army dress uniform stepped into view.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakable.
My father.
Major General Thomas Hartwell looked directly into the camera.
And the first words he said to me after fourteen years were not hello.
“Lena, Preston is in danger.”
I gripped the edge of the table.
“What?”
“He thinks Brielle’s pregnancy is the scandal.”
My father’s face hardened.
“It isn’t.”
Behind me, an alarm suddenly sounded somewhere in the operations building.
Red lights flashed once above the corridor door.
My father leaned toward the camera.
“The paternity test is going to expose something much bigger than an affair.”
I felt the room narrowing around me.
“What are you talking about?”
His answer came quietly.
“Brielle Mercer didn’t choose Preston by accident.”
And then the secure connection went black.
…If you want to know what happened next, please type “YES” and like for more.
THE END
