Chapter 8 - The Fundraiser
Thursday's event at the community center was open to the public.
My mother decided to attend despite my objections.
“He has told this story to hundreds of people,” she said.
“I want to hear what he says when I'm in the room.”
Sloan advised her to avoid confrontation and preserve any publicly available materials.
We sat in the back row beside Ward.
The room was decorated with flags and photographs of service members.
Volunteers sold raffle tickets near a folding table stacked with donation envelopes.
Martin entered wearing a blazer with miniature medal replicas pinned to the lapel.
He smiled for photographs as if he'd been born on a stage.
Ellis, a neatly dressed man with silver glasses, stood at the podium.
“Tonight we honor a true American hero,” Ellis announced.
Martin stepped up to applause.
He spoke about courage, sacrifice, and the men he'd supposedly commanded overseas.
Every phrase was designed to sound personal while revealing almost nothing verifiable.
When he mentioned an operation during a year in which his own timeline already contradicted itself, Ward wrote down the exact claim.
My mother kept staring at the donation box.
People were dropping money into it.
People who trusted him.
During the questions, a woman near the front stood.
“My husband served with Sergeant Ortega,” she said.
Martin's smile faltered.
“Thank you for your husband's service,” he replied.
She didn't sit.
“I'd like to know why you used my husband's photograph in your brochure.”
A murmur spread through the chairs.
Ellis reached for the microphone.
“Let's keep questions focused on tonight's mission.”
The woman raised her own printed copy.
“That's his body,” she said.
“That's another man's face.”
I recognized her from Ward's description.
Elena Ortega was Sergeant Ortega's widow.
Martin glanced toward the exit.
My mother stood before I could stop her.
“I believe Mrs. Ortega deserves an answer,” she said.
There was nothing loud about her voice.
The room heard it anyway.
Ellis announced a short break.
Martin hurried offstage.
I followed only as far as the public hallway.
From behind the door to the organizer's office came an argument.
“You said nobody would check,” Martin snapped.
Ellis answered, “Then why is Bennett here?”
My skin went cold.
May you like
Ellis knew my name.
And he knew enough to sound afraid of it.
