Chapter 2 - The Summons
The man in the trench coat stepped forward, his polished oxfords clicking deliberately against the platform flags. He was tall, middle-aged, with silver-rimmed spectacles and a demeanor stripped of warmth. When he stopped five feet from the wheelchair, he did not look at the medals; he looked straight into Nathan’s tired, bloodshot eyes.
""Nathaniel Vance?"" the man asked. His voice was flat, carrying through the cavernous terminal.
Miller shifted his weight immediately, stepping around the right wheel to interpose his broad frame. ""State your business, sir. Sergeant Vance has just completed medical transit. He has clearance.""
The man opened the leather folder, unbothered by Miller's imposing bulk. ""I am Marcus Hale, court-appointed receiver for the county child welfare board and legal executor for the Carter Vance estate. I hold an emergency interim order signed three hours ago.""
Nathan felt the blood drain from his face. Leo burrowed deeper into his dress jacket, his little fingers twisting into the wool. ""My son is not a legal matter,"" Nathan grated out, his voice hoarse from disuse. ""He stays with me.""
""Under state administrative code 44-B, a minor child cannot be discharged into the custody of an unhoused guardian without viable medical accommodation, demonstrated financial solvency, or verified living arrangements,"" Hale recited calmly. He held out a crisp white document. ""Your homestead was seized by the county creditor's board at dawn. You have no legal residence. You have zero civilian income. And given your severe bilateral paralysis and recent psychiatric evaluation from Walter Reed, the court has found you temporarily incapable of primary physical custody.""
""He just got off the damn plane,"" Miller snapped, his hands curling into fists at his sides. ""He took shrapnel for this country. You give a man twenty-four hours to report to the transition office before you pull a stunt like this.""
""The court gave him seven months of formal notices sent to his home address,"" Hale replied. ""None were answered. The foster transit team is waiting at Gate C.""
Nathan grabbed the armrests of the wheelchair, his knuckles turning stark white as his chest heaved. He looked at Leo's wide, terror-stricken eyes. The boy looked from the paper to the stranger, then began to cry silently, pressing his cheek hard against his father's Silver Star.
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""You won't touch him,"" Nathan snarled.
""I won't have to,"" Hale said, lifting his chin toward the gate. Two county deputies were already walking toward them, their badges gleaming under the station lamps.
