Chapter 3

The community award presentation began.

Julian Vance, ever the showman, was invited by the host – a sycophant in his orbit – to say a few words.

He took the stage, beaming.

"In times of change," he began, "we need new songs, new poetry to capture the zeitgeist."

He then recited a poem, full of abstract imagery and modern angst. He passed it off as his own.

"A little something I penned reflecting on our current societal flux."

Ethan recognized it. It was by a rather obscure contemporary poet, but not obscure enough.

A few older attendees, genuine patrons of arts and history, exchanged puzzled glances.

One, a retired literature professor, cleared his throat.

"Mr. Vance, that was quite moving. Reminds me very much of Elara Vancey's 'Urban Echoes.' A striking similarity in theme and, indeed, several key stanzas."

The professor's tone was polite, but the implication was a dagger.

Julian's smile tightened. "Ah, yes, the muse works in mysterious ways. Great minds, you understand." He tried to laugh it off.

His plagiarized poem had dazzled some younger, less discerning members of the audience, but the core supporters of the society were not impressed.

Julian's existing supporters, a claque of easily impressed social media followers he'd brought, quickly jumped in.

"Such profound insight, Julian!"

"Truly original!"

They drowned out the murmurs of doubt, papering over his embarrassment.

His reputation, at least among his disciples, was safe.

Julian, feeling the heat of the professor's polite exposure and Ethan's earlier challenge, decided to deflect.

He gestured towards Ethan, who had remained quietly in the background.

"But enough about my humble efforts! We have Captain Ethan Carter here. A man of action, of tradition. Perhaps he has a talent to share? Something beyond the battlefield?"

It was a public challenge, designed to humiliate Ethan, to paint him as a one-dimensional soldier.

Izzy watched, a faint, cruel smile playing on her lips. She clearly expected Ethan to decline or embarrass himself.

Ethan felt a surge of cold anger.

He was a military man, yes. But his grandfather had also instilled in him a love for history, for the very community this society represented.

He stepped forward. "I'm not a poet, Mr. Vance."

He paused, then addressed the attendees. "But I can speak about what this community, and its history, means."

Unexpectedly, he began to speak. Not with flowery rhetoric, but with quiet passion.

He spoke of the town's founders, of the sacrifices made to build it, of the importance of remembering and honoring that past, not to be stuck in it, but to draw strength from it.

He connected it to the very map they were awarding, explaining a little-known historical detail his grandfather had discovered about it.

His words were simple, heartfelt, and deeply resonant. The older attendees nodded, their eyes shining. Even some of the younger ones, initially distracted, listened intently.

He hadn' t performed a "talent" in the way Vance meant, but he had connected with the room' s true purpose.

When the applause died down, the head of the awards committee, an elderly woman with kind eyes, announced the winner of the community service award.

"For his quiet, dedicated work supporting our local veterans through the NPO founded by Sergeant Major Mac Johnson, and for reminding us tonight of the true spirit of this community... Captain Ethan Carter."

Ethan had won. He would get his grandfather's map.

A small, genuine smile touched his lips.

Julian Vance's face was a mask of fury. He had been upstaged, his superficiality exposed next to Ethan's quiet substance.

Izzy looked momentarily surprised, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before her expression hardened again.

As Ethan accepted the award – the rolled-up antique map, carefully encased – Julian approached him, Izzy in tow.

"Quite the sentimentalist, aren't we, Captain?" Julian sneered. He was holding a glass of red wine.

"It has family significance," Ethan said curtly.

"Oh, I'm sure," Julian said, his eyes glinting with malice.

Then, with a theatrical "oops," he stumbled, "accidentally" sloshing his red wine all over the protective casing and, inevitably, seeping onto the delicate, centuries-old paper of the map.

The dark stain spread rapidly, an ugly blight.

"Oh, dear," Julian said, with no sincerity whatsoever. "How clumsy of me."

Izzy rushed to his side. "Julian, are you alright? It was an accident, Ethan. He didn't mean it."

But Ethan saw the deliberate flick of Vance's wrist, the smirk he barely concealed.

The map, his grandfather's cherished object, was irreparably damaged. Ruined.

The sight of the ruined map, the blatant malice in Julian's eyes, Izzy's immediate defense of him – something snapped in Ethan.

His years of military discipline, his quiet stoicism, fractured.

A red haze of rage descended.

He didn't think. He acted.

His fist connected with Julian Vance's jaw with a sickening crack.

Julian yelped, more in surprise than pain, and staggered back, exaggerating the impact.

He clutched his jaw, his eyes wide with theatrical shock.

"He... he hit me!" Vance cried out, his voice laced with faux victimhood.

He crumpled slightly, as if about to fall, playing it for all it was worth.

Izzy gasped, rushing to Julian's side, shielding him.

She turned on Ethan, her face a mask of fury.

"How dare you!" she shrieked, her voice sharp enough to cut. "You animal!"

She placed herself protectively in front of Julian, glaring at Ethan.

"He's a visionary, a gentle soul! And you, you resort to violence like a common thug!"

"He destroyed something precious, Izzy! Deliberately!" Ethan's voice was tight with suppressed fury, the injustice burning.

"It was an accident!" Izzy insisted, her eyes blazing. "You're just jealous! You can't stand that I've chosen someone better, someone more evolved than a brutish soldier!"

She pointed a trembling finger at him. "You have no respect! You forget your place! This is my family's circle, not your barracks! You'll pay for this!"

Julian, recovering quickly, moaned softly from behind Izzy.

"My jaw... Izzy, I think he broke it. The pain..." He winced, a picture of suffering.

He looked at Izzy, his eyes pleading. "He's dangerous, Izzy. He can't be allowed to... to just attack people like this."

His words were carefully chosen, designed to inflame her, to push her.

Izzy, completely swayed by Julian's act and her own anger, turned her full wrath on Ethan.

"You will be punished for this, Ethan Carter," she declared, her voice cold and hard.

"You assaulted a guest under my family's protection. There will be consequences. Severe consequences."

She looked at the society's security, then at two of her father's private security who always shadowed her.

"Take him. He needs to be taught a lesson."

Ethan felt a cold dread. He knew what "a lesson" from the Hayes family could entail, especially when Izzy was in this state, manipulated by Vance.