Before Prescott could answer, the sharp chirp of a police siren sounded down the street. A dark grey unmarked police cruiser pulled swiftly into the chapel driveway, followed immediately by two more marked Westfield Police patrol units. The chief of police had received a direct, panicked radio transmission from Ross just two minutes earlier.

The door of the grey sedan swung open, and Chief Richard Vance stepped out. Vance was a veteran law enforcement officer with twenty-eight years of service, a sturdy man with silver hair and a sharp, discerning gaze. He took in the scene in a single glance: General Cole smoothing his suit jacket, Lieutenant Colonel Reeves standing like a shield, Ross looking sick with anxiety, and Prescott sweating profusely beside his car.

Chief Vance walked rapidly toward the group, his eyes locked onto General Cole. "General Cole," Vance said, halting three feet away and bowing his head slightly in deep respect and clear apprehension. "I am Chief Richard Vance of the Westfield Police Department. Sir, I received a panic call from Officer Ross regarding an incident. Can you tell me what happened here?"

General Cole adjusted his tie, his posture perfectly erect despite the ache in his back. "Chief Vance, your officers responded to a call regarding a man walking in the overflow lot. I explained that I was looking for my family's vehicle before entering my brother's funeral. Officer Prescott chose to strike me, force me to the pavement, and place me in handcuffs despite zero resistance on my part."

Vance turned his head toward Prescott. The chief’s face turned a dangerous shade of dark crimson. "Prescott," Vance said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "Is this true?"

Prescott swallowed hard. "Chief, he was suspicious... he didn't present ID right away, and when I touched his chest, he spoke aggressively..."

"He spoke aggressively?" Maya interrupted, her eyes flashing with ice. "General Cole advised your officer to remove his hand after he physically grabbed him. Your officer then assaulted him."

Chief Vance closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a long, heavy breath. He knew General Cole by reputation—a distinguished combat veteran who had led divisions in Iraq and Afghanistan, a strategist who managed billions in defense logistics, and a man known throughout the Armed Forces for his unwavering integrity and self-discipline.

"Officer Prescott," Chief Vance said, his voice trembling with controlled rage. "Hand me your sidearm, your badge, and your radio. Right now."

Prescott gasped. "Chief! I was executing a standard stop!"

"You are suspended immediately, pending formal criminal and internal investigation," Vance ordered, extending an unyielding hand. "Hand them over, Prescott. Do not make me repeat myself."

Shattered, Prescott slowly unbuckled his duty weapon, unclipped his badge, and handed them to his chief. His hands shook so violently he almost dropped the metal star into the dust.

Chief Vance turned back to Adrian, his expression filled with profound remorse. "General Cole, I cannot adequately express how deeply sorry I am for this atrocious behavior. My department will conduct a full, transparent inquiry, and I promise you full accountability. But right now, sir... your brother’s service is waiting."

Adrian looked at Chief Vance, then down at his brother's pocket watch. The hands showed four minutes past nine.

"Thank you, Chief Vance," Adrian said quietly. "We will address the legal and administrative matters later today. Right now, I have a duty to my family."

The heavy wooden doors of St. Matthew’s Chapel creaked open quietly as General Adrian Cole stepped into the warm, carpeted sanctuary. The soft odor of lilies, wax candles, and aged cedar filled the air. The chapel was packed to capacity; every pew was filled with former students, local teachers, neighbors, and relatives who had come to pay their respects to Malcolm Cole.

Adrian stepped lightly down the center aisle. His sister-in-law, Patrice, sat in the front pew flanked by her daughter Danielle and her son Marcus. As Adrian approached, Patrice looked up, her tear-stained eyes instantly noticing the faint smudge of dirt on his jacket shoulder and the swollen mark along his jawline. She caught her breath, but Adrian gently pressed a hand to her shoulder, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

"I am here, Patrice," he whispered softly. "I'm sorry I was delayed."