The hum of the jet was a steady backdrop as Dave stared out at the thinning clouds below, Washington, DC, drawing closer with every mile.
His schedule had been brutal these last few days—calls, signatures, endless meetings—but this one was routine, so the stress would be minimal… hopefully.
By the time the motorcade carried him through the gates of the White House, Dave’s mind was already working two tracks at once: the practical details of the meeting and the weight of what he hadn’t yet said to Stone.
He knew Stone wanted clarity. He could see it in his eyes, the carefulness. Stone wanted answers that he couldn’t yet give—about them.
Dave pushed the thoughts down.
There would be time for that later.
He hoped.
The Oval Office stood apart, its curved walls, flags, and the unblinking gaze of history a reminder that the choices made here bent the world’s course.
Dave entered with the discipline of a soldier—posture straight, expression neutral—and waited until the President motioned him to sit.
Clinton lingered near the door, tablet in hand, gaze fixed on Dave.
“That’s all, Clinton. Wait outside,” Dave said.
Clinton tipped his head once and slipped out.
Silence settled. The President studied him for a long beat.
The door opened again. Secretary of Defense William Caldwell stepped in, gave Dave a nod, and took a seat.
“Right on time. Let’s get to it,” the President said, leaning forward. “We’re thinking ahead—the next few years. You’ve carried more than your share of weight, Dave. I don’t want it all on your shoulders anymore.”
Dave’s brow quirked, but before he could answer, William Caldwell spoke. “This isn’t about pushing you out. It’s about transition. I’ll take more of the day-to-day so you can focus on what matters most.”
Dave’s mouth tugged into a faint smirk. “About time someone else got stuck with the paperwork.” The humor faded as quickly as it came, his voice grounding. “And if you’re talking retirement… I’ve thought about it.”
“I know you’ve been weighing it for a while,” the President acknowledged.
“I have,” Dave admitted.
“But the truth is, I currently need you,” the President continued. “Run point on the missions that need your eye. Nobody else can, not yet. Will can take more of the oversight. That’s where we’re headed.”
Dave nodded slowly. “Fine by me. I can run point. And if you need me in the fight, I’ll be in the fight.”
“That’ll be your call.” The President glanced down at the papers on his desk, then back up. “There’s chatter out of Nevada. Nightfall Drifters Ranch is secure, but someone’s been circling one of our stash houses. Viper thinks it ties back to Titus.”
Dave’s expression barely shifted, though his gut tightened at the name.
Titus meant trouble—always had. Viper knew firsthand how menacing Titus was, and Dave had learned shortly after the Micky compound incident the exact nature of the reason.
Will added quietly, “You remember I told you what went down between him and Viper. That hasn’t gone away.”
“Titus must be after our bunkers.”
“It would strengthen his ability to continue human trafficking,” Will agreed.
“That’s exactly what I think,” the President said. “Viper wants Law brought in. He’s convinced Law, together with Stone, are the men who can track Titus, and I’ve given him the green light.”
Law. The name landed like a strike. Dave didn’t flinch, but it burned all the same.
“I trust you can keep Stone in line,” the President added. “I know he has a past with Law.”
