“And around here…”
We stood up from the chairs, holding Caleb, Garrett, Thomas, and Uncle David’s hands toward the limitless blue sky as the distant chimes of the valley chapel began to strike twelve times across the peaceful water:
“…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.*
Garrett laughed into the warm sunlight.
Caleb strummed a rich, ringing major chord on his father’s guitar.
The white sails glided across the river.
The eagles climbed into the limitless blue sky.
The water ran deep and clear.
The ledger was closed forever.
And the mother whose twelve-year-old son had stood before two police officers on a middle school stage had watched him drop his guitar pick in tears, only to discover that his courage had unsealed the truth, audited the dynasty, and reclaimed the defense bedrock of the Republic—finally, beautifully, and eternally free.
