“…nobody ever, ever… audits an auditor again.”
Barnaby let out a soft, contented sigh on the porch rug, his tail thumping once against the cedar boards: *thump.*
Ethan laughed into the warm sunlight.
Little Eleanor clapped her hands, watching the soaring eagles climb into the limitless blue sky.
The white passenger ferries glided across the blue water.
The eagles climbed into the limitless blue sky.
The water ran deep and clear.
The ledger was closed forever.
And the bride who had overheard her treacherous bridesmaids plotting through a thin hotel wall to ruin her wedding dress and steal her fiancé—refusing to yield to tears or panic—had secretly redesigned her entire wedding day, unmasked eighty years of high treason before four hundred stunned guests, answered domestic cruelty with the full sovereign authority of the United States Armed Forces, sent the dynasty to Leavenworth in chains, and reclaimed her rightful husband along with the defense bedrock of the Republic—finally, beautifully, and eternally free.
