Not smart.
Two operators moved before he even got halfway.
One caught him high. The other went low.
They drove him into the floor hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs.
A sharp impact.
Glass rattled on the table.
Trent hit the ground face-first.
“Don’t—”
he tried, but the rest got crushed out of him as a knee pinned his back.
His arms were yanked behind him.
Metal snapped into place.
Cuffs tight.
No hesitation.
“No sudden movements,” one of the agents said, calm and flat.
Trent struggled once.
Just once.
Then stopped.
Because he knew that was it.
The room reset around him.
Jocelyn stared at the scene like it didn’t belong to her life.
Then it hit.
Not slow.
All at once.
“Wait. Wait, no,” she said, pushing herself forward on her knees. “You can’t do this. You don’t understand what’s happening.”
No one answered.
She turned sharply, grabbing onto my father’s arm like it was the last solid thing left in the room.
“Dad.”
Her voice cracked.
“Dad, call someone. Call the secretary. Call anyone. Fix this.”
She pulled harder.
“You can’t just stand there.”
My father didn’t move right away.
He was still staring at the folder on the table. At the pages. At the reality.
“Dad.”
Jocelyn’s voice broke again.
“She’s lying. She’s twisting things. You know me. You know I wouldn’t—”
He slowly looked down at her.
And for a second there was something there.
Not authority. Not pride.
Just hesitation.
Then it disappeared.
Because deep down, he already knew.
But he wasn’t ready to accept it.
Not yet.
He pulled his arm free from her grip.
Not violently.
Just enough.
Then he reached into his jacket and took out his phone.
That part got everyone’s attention.
Even the agents shifted slightly, watching.
Jocelyn latched onto it immediately.
“Yes. Yes. Call him. Call General Whitaker. He’ll fix this. He has to.”
My father didn’t respond.
He was already dialing.
The room went quiet again, but this time it wasn’t controlled.
It was tense. Fragile.
The call connected.
He didn’t bother with small talk.
“This is General Vance,” he said, voice firm again, pulling whatever authority he had left into it. “I need immediate clarification on an unauthorized operation at my residence.”
He hit speaker.
Of course he did.
This wasn’t just a call.
It was a move.
A last attempt to take control back in front of everyone.
A voice came through.
Older. Sharper. No wasted time.
“I’m aware.”
That stopped him for half a second, but he pushed through.
“Then you understand the severity of the situation,” my father continued. “Armed agents have breached my home and detained my family without auth—”
The voice cut in.
Flat. Clean. No room for interpretation.
My father froze just slightly, then tightened his grip on the phone.
“I’m going to need you to clarify that statement,” he said, slower now.
A pause.
Then the voice came back cold.
“Vance, I’m the one who signed the order.”
The air shifted.
You could feel it.
Jocelyn stopped breathing.
Trent went still under the agents’ weight.
I didn’t move.
My father’s jaw locked.
“Signed what order?”
