Chapter 5 - The Grand Jury and the Gavel
Three months later, the Ohio winter had set in with brutal, gray-faced resolve.
The snow lay eight inches deep across the five acres of Timberland Ridge, capping the fence posts with clean, white domes and silencing the dry whisper of the winter woods. The lawn where seventy white folding chairs had once sat was now a pristine, uninterrupted expanse of virgin snow, crossed only by the delicate, three-toed tracks of wild turkeys and the deep ruts of the tractor I used to plow the drive.
I stood before the three-way mirror in the master bedroom, adjusting the silver oak leaves on the epaulets of my Service Dress blue coat.
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The uniform fit differently now.
At twenty-eight weeks, the pregnancy was no longer something that could be concealed beneath a loose utility jacket. The tailoring shop at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base had done an exceptional job modifying the service coat, creating custom pleats along the side seams that allowed the heavy wool-blend fabric to drape cleanly over the pronounced
