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“My sister-in-law was shaken enough that she flew out last night to head back to be with her husband. The doctors gave her a sedative so she should sleep through the whole thing. Can you explain to us what was happening yesterday?”

“Tango and I intervened in a situation at Tifton Manor that ended with my driving Mrs. Harcourt to the hospital. I’m sorry to hear she’s having troubles.”

“Aunt Amanda said that your dog bit the man who was trying to get into the limo and drive it away.”

Ethan tried hard not to engage. But he could well understand the family wanting to hear the story. “My dog engaged, sir.”

Mrs. Harcourt-Swain scooted her chair back and looked under the table. “What a good girl you are, Tango. You should always bite the bad guy as hard as you can.” She sat back up to look at Ethan. “What’s Tango’s training?”

“She’s getting ready to receive her certification with Cerberus Tactical K9 ”

“That’s a pretty elite gig, as I hear it,” the nephew said.

“Yes, sir.”

“How did you get involved over there?” he asked.

“People I knew in the military got Tango in for an assessment, and she had the right skill sets for that program.”

“Which are?” The man leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and crossing an ankle over his knee.

“Intelligence, athleticism, and a strong work drive.”

“And how did you get your training for saving my Aunt Amanda yesterday?” he asked.

“The military, perhaps?” Mrs. Harcourt-Swain asked.

This was not the weather, but Pickeridge said to lean into this part of the story. “Yes, ma’am. Air Force.”

“That’s surprising. I thought the people over at Iniquus were special forces.” She turned a questioning brow toward the nephew.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ethan said. “I was in the 24th Special Tactics Squadron.”

“24th,” the nephew said, scrolling his phone. “24th STS. Listen to this, mom,” he said glancing toward Mrs. Harcourt-Swain. “The 24th are Air traffic controllers for the Air Force. They parachute into an assignment to direct planes to hit their targets.” The guy looked up and frowned at Ethan nodding as if he were impressed. He looked back at the phone. “The members of the 24th train with SEALs, Marine Raiders—whatever they are—and Rangers.” He looked up to catch Ethan’s gaze, then back to the screen. “They train with them, then they break away to refresh their own training in parachuting, explosives qualifications, and to keep their air traffic license valid. Only a couple hundred of them exist.” He set his phone down.

“That’s impressive, young man,” one of the other men said. And Ethan wondered why they didn’t go around the table and offer names. There were eight people here, and Ethan had one name and a family connection. But they all knew him. It put Ethan on the back foot.

“You know, I recently read that the traffic controllers are aging out of their jobs,” One of the men said. “They’re trying to replace them with gamers. I don’t know how safe that makes me feel when I’m up in my jet.”

Ethan wasn’t sure what to say, so he offered a half-smile.

“If you have that training under your belt, Ethan, why didn’t you choose to go into air traffic control with one of the elite hubs?” another man asked.

“What you’re not hearing, Winston,” the nephew said, lifting his voice the way one does near the elderly, “is the explanation of the job isn’t that Ethan did direct plane traffic. He threw on a jumpsuit and walked out the back of a plane to land and do his job while bombs were dropping all around him.”

The table fell silent, and every executive stared at Ethan like he was an exotic animal in a zoo.

Mrs. Harcourt-Swain broke the spell. “Unimaginable. So when you left the military. What was your rank?”

“I was an E-6, a Technical Sergeant.”

“That sounds like you were enlisted. You don’t have a college degree?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. I joined up right after high school graduation.”

“And now?” Winston asked.

“I take on security assignments as a freelancer for Pickeridge Security. I’ve been biding my time until Tango finishes her training.”