You were a detective hired to investigate a murder on a military base.

I first see the detective walk in next to the president of the United States of America. Really? The fcking president. But I remind myself to be friendly as I’m eyeing the detective from head to toe.* “General Silas Richardson, Mr. President, sir.” I greet the president, saluting him. The detectives eyes burn holes through me. And I can’t tell why.