Late that night, Sam and Jack sat side by side at the dining table, the soft glow of their laptops illuminating their tired faces. Empty coffee mugs and a half-eaten plate of cookies sat forgotten between them, testaments to work hours and simmering tension.
Natalie's face was faintly pixelated on the laptop screen, her voice crackling through the speakerphone. The urgency in her tone broke through the haze of exhaustion like a sharp wind.
"There's more here than I initially thought," Natalie began, her words deliberate and weighted. "This isn't just a few questionable transactions. It's systemic—and deeply incriminating."
Jack leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, his expression shifting into a hardened resolve. "Let's hear it."
Sam glanced at Jack, her chest tightening. Whatever Natalie had uncovered was about to blow the lid off everything.
Natalie took a deep breath before diving in. "It started with routine financial audits of Pentagon contractors. I put a special team together, and they flagged a series of irregularities involving McCready's pet project—Tayo Dynamics. It's a defense contractor specializing in advanced drone technologies, supposedly for intelligence gathering and surveillance."
Sam frowned. "I've heard of them. They were in the running for one of our canceled contracts."
"Exactly," Natalie said her voice hardening. "Tayo Dynamics received over $200 million in federal funding for projects that, on paper, look legitimate. However, we found significant discrepancies when cross-referenced delivery schedules and operational outcomes. Equipment marked as delivered never arrived. Prototypes supposedly tested in the field? Never built. And payments? Funneled through a series of shell companies."
Jack's expression darkened.
"So, they're cooking the books. That's bad but not unheard of."
Natalie nodded.
"It gets worse. One of those shell companies is directly tied to McCready. He's listed as a silent partner, receiving kickbacks disguised as 'consulting fees.' This isn't just fraud—it's embezzlement on a massive scale. And he's not the only one implicated."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "Landry?"
Natalie hesitated. "Not directly. But his office approved every Tayo Dynamics contract, bypassing the usual oversight processes. Either he's complicit, or McCready has something on him that forced his hand. Either way, this trail leads straight to the Pentagon's doorstep."
Jack let out a low whistle.
"If this gets out, it'll be more than blowback. Heads will roll."
Natalie leaned forward, her face filling the screen. "That's not all. One of the drones Tayo Dynamics supposedly deployed overseas is tied to a covert operation that resulted in civilian casualties. The fallout was buried, but if we connect the dots—"
Sam cut in, her voice sharp.
"It won't just destroy McCready's career. It'll bring the Pentagon to its knees."
Natalie nodded. "Exactly. This isn't just financial misconduct. It's corruption, negligence, and cover-ups on a level that could spark a national scandal."
Jack ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.
"So, we've got them. But how do we use this without painting a target on ourselves?"
Sam's lips curved into a grim smile, which Jack knew meant trouble for anyone standing in her way.
"We leak it. Selectively. Just enough to make them realize we're holding the rest of the cards."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "And what happens when they call our bluff?"
"We don't bluff," Sam said, her voice steady. "If they push us, we release everything. Let the chips fall where they may."
Jack studied her momentarily, a mixture of admiration and concern softening his features.
"You're always two steps ahead, Carter."
She turned to him, squeezing his hand. "I learned from the best."
Natalie's voice broke the quiet moment.
"I'll tell them to compile everything into a dossier. But Sam, we need to be careful. If they find out we're behind this—"
"They won't," Sam interrupted, her voice firm. "This isn't just about us, Natalie. It's about holding them accountable. No one should get away with this."
Jack smirked. "And you think they call me reckless. You two are ten times worse than me."
The next day, armed with Natalie's evidence, Sam and Jack initiated their planned offensive. They contacted an investigative journalist known for toppling corporate giants and unraveling political corruption. The first leak was precise and devastating: financial anomalies linking Tayo Dynamics directly to General McCready. Within hours, whispers surged through Washington like wildfire.
The segment closed ominously. "As investigations deepen, one question looms: how far does this go, and how many lives have already paid the price?"
By the following morning, the media frenzy had begun. News outlets speculated on the extent of the fraud, and McCready's name surfaced as a central figure. That evening, a breaking news segment aired on a major network. The anchor, her tone grave, introduced the segment with the words, "Explosive allegations tonight about corruption at the highest levels of military contracting."
The screen shifted to a pre-recorded interview with a whistleblower, their face blurred and voice distorted. "Tayo Dynamics wasn't just fudging numbers," the whistleblower said. "They were cutting corners on critical systems. A drone prototype meant for surveillance in conflict zones malfunctioned during testing. Instead of detecting threats, it misidentified friendly units as hostiles. If it had been deployed, it could've caused catastrophic loss of life."
The anchor's voice cut back in.
"Documents obtained by our investigative team reveal that funds for developing advanced surveillance technology were funneled into shell companies linked to General McCready. Experts warn that these actions represent gross misconduct and jeopardize critical military operations abroad."
A retired colonel appeared on-screen, his face grim.
"This kind of corruption isn't just a financial issue. It undermines trust in the system, weakens our operational readiness, and puts American lives at risk. The people responsible need to be held accountable, or we risk eroding the very foundation of national security."
The segment ended with a stark reminder: "As investigations continue, many are asking how deep this corruption goes—and how many lives it has already cost."
Landry's office denied any knowledge, and McCready wasn't available to comment, but the damage was done.
Sam and Jack's dining table became a makeshift command center. Jack leaned back, grinning as he scrolled through headlines.
"McCready's unraveling. Insiders are already demanding a formal inquiry. If this keeps up, he'll be out of options."
Sam nodded, but her expression was cautious. "We can't get complacent. He's desperate now, and desperate people are dangerous."
Jack's phone buzzed on the dining table as if on cue, the screen lighting up with McCready's name. "Speak of the devil." He let it ring twice, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
"McCready," Jack said flatly, the annoyance in his tone barely masked.
"You've been busy," McCready replied, his voice cool and clipped. "Dragging my name through the mud? Bold move."
Jack smirked. The other man wouldn't see it, but the satisfaction in his voice carried.
"Not bold. Just overdue. Thought someone should hold you accountable for once."
"You think you're clever?" McCready's tone darkened, the calm veneer cracking slightly. "You don't know what you've started, O'Neill. I've been in this game longer than you've been taking orders. If you think I'll go down quietly, you're delusional."
Jack leaned forward, his elbows on the table, voice low and steady. "Funny thing about noise—it draws attention. And right now, the more you squawk, the harder people look. Maybe you should worry less about me and more about the cracks in your foundation."
A pause crackled over the line, weighted with hesitation. When McCready spoke again, his tone was darker, edged with barely concealed desperation.
"You're poking the bear, O'Neill. The Pentagon won't just bite back—it'll tear you apart. Hard."
Jack's smirk sharpened into something colder. "Big talk from someone whose house of cards is already falling. If this is your idea of a threat, you will have to do better. Or maybe you're finally out of plays?"
He ended the call before McCready could respond, tossing the phone onto the table. Across from him, Sam looked up from her laptop, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Well?" she asked.
Jack shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "He's cracking."
Sam smiled faintly, her eyes narrowing with determination. "Good. Let's keep pushing."
Sam continued to look at him, her expression shifting from focused to faintly amused.
"By the way, did you see the message from Vala earlier today?"
Jack raised an eyebrow. "No. What's she up to now?"
Sam smirked, scrolling through her inbox. "Something about 'big news.' It could mean she found a bigger house... or a new shade of lipstick."
Jack chuckled. "With Vala, you never know. Did you respond?"
"Not yet," Sam admitted. "I figured whatever it is, it can wait until after we deal with McCready and Landry."
Jack shrugged. "Fair. Just don't be surprised if she shows up at the worst possible moment. She has a talent for that."
The tides had shifted, and the weight pressing down on them felt lighter for the first time in weeks. McCready and Landry's stranglehold on their lives was slipping, and the balance of power was finally tipping in their favor. But Sam and Jack both knew the fight wasn't over—not yet.
And they would be ready for whatever came next.
General Hank Landry paced furiously in his Homeworld office, the sound of his polished shoes striking the floor echoing in the confined space. His typically composed demeanor had cracked, replaced by the raw frustration boiling over as he vented at McCready, who sat calmly across the desk.
"She's dismantling everything we've built," Landry snarled, his face flushed with frustration. "If those irregularities are exposed, it won't just cost us our careers—it'll drag the Air Force into the mud. Do you realize the fallout this could have on national security? Court-martials, dishonorable discharges... this could destroy us."
His usually unflappable composure showed faint signs of wear, and McCready leaned forward slightly. "I understand perfectly, Hank. But panicking won't solve anything. We still have one last card to play."
Landry stopped pacing and turned to face him, his eyes narrowing. "Jack?"
McCready nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his gaze. "If we pull that thread, everything Carter and O'Neill have worked for will unravel. He's not clean, Hank. His past is a minefield of classified operations, black-ops missions, and questionable choices. And Carter's tied herself to him. We expose him, and she goes down with him."
Landry's gaze sharpened, his jaw tightening. "You're sure?"
McCready hesitated, his confidence faltering for the first time.
"If we do this, it won't just take them down. It could blow back on us. Pulling that thread... it's risky. But it's there if we need it."
Landry's voice dropped to a growl. "We'll stop Carter, whatever it takes."
McCready's response was a terse nod, but his unease was palpable.
As the leaks about Tayo Dynamics gained traction, the pressure mounted for both sides. Sam and Jack, emboldened by their growing leverage, moved forward with precision, carefully orchestrating their next steps.
At the same time, Landry and McCready became increasingly reckless, throwing every resource at their disposal to stop them. Regulatory audits of CQS became full-scale investigations, suppliers were intimidated, and whispers of Jack's black-ops history began to surface in closed circles.
One evening, Sam stormed into their home, her face a mix of fury and determination.
"They're not backing off," she said, tossing a stack of documents onto the dining table where Jack reviewed the latest news. "They're coming after everything. The company, the kids, you."
Jack looked up, his expression hardening.
"Let them. If McCready thinks he can dig up my past and scare us, he doesn't know who he's dealing with."
Sam sat down, her shoulders tense. "We need to be ready for whatever they throw at us next. They're desperate. And desperate men are dangerous."
Jack reached across the table, taking her hand. "We've got this, Carter. They've already made one fatal mistake."
Sam frowned. "What's that?"
"They underestimated you."
Across town, the repercussions of their actions were already rippling through Washington, D.C.
The Senate hearing room was a study in quiet tension. The vaulted ceilings and imposing architecture only amplified the moment's weight, as if the walls bore witness to the gravity of the accusations being laid bare. The room was closed to the public and press, with only key senators, staffers, and witnesses present. Every word spoken carried the weight of secrecy, and the stakes were palpable.
A uniformed officer sat quietly in the corner of the room, his insignia identifying him as a lieutenant colonel. His sharp gaze scanned the proceedings, taking in every detail with a disciplined focus. Though his presence attracted no undue attention, he was there on behalf of a four-star General, observing every word and reaction keenly. His quiet role as the General emissary ensured that nothing would be missed.
At the witness table, an intelligence analyst named Erin Malloy adjusted her microphone, her hands steady despite the immense pressure of the moment. She was young for her position, her crisp uniform immaculate, but her voice carried the weight of someone who had seen too much.
"Major Malloy," Senator Diane Hastings began, leaning forward slightly. Her tone was measured but firm, an anchor in the storm of unfolding revelations. "You've testified that Tayo Dynamics not only falsified records but failed to deliver critical technology, leading to catastrophic operational failures. Can you elaborate on the specific North African mission you referenced earlier?"
Malloy's gaze flicked to the rows of faces before her, each a potential ally or adversary. She took a breath.
"Yes, Senator. The mission in question occurred last year. Our team relied on a prototype drone developed by Tayo Dynamics for reconnaissance in a high-risk region. The drone's primary function was to identify hostile activity and relay real-time intelligence to our operatives on the ground."
She paused, her voice tightening.
"Instead, the drone's software malfunctioned. It misidentified friendly units as hostiles and failed to detect actual threats. This error left our team exposed. Three operatives were killed, and two more were gravely injured before extraction could be arranged."
A murmur rippled through the room. Senator Hastings' expression hardened.
"And you're saying this failure was directly tied to negligence on the part of Tayo Dynamics?"
"Yes, Senator," Malloy replied. "Post-mission analysis revealed that the prototypes had not undergone proper field testing. Internal documents obtained during the investigation indicated that budget reallocations—authorized by senior Pentagon officials—had diverted funds intended for testing to unrelated projects."
Another senator, a gray-haired man with a sharp tone, interjected.
"Unrelated projects? Can you clarify, Ms. Malloy?"
"Yes, Senator. The diverted funds were funneled into shell companies linked to General McCready. These companies billed for consulting and development work that was never performed."
The tension in the room thickened, and furious note-taking filled the silence. Senator Hastings' voice was cold now, slicing through the tension like a blade.
"Major Malloy, you're stating that taxpayer money intended for national security was embezzled for personal gain and that this corruption directly contributed to the deaths of American operatives?"
Malloy's hands clenched briefly on the table. "Yes, Senator. The evidence is irrefutable."
At the back of the room, the officer observing scribbled a quick note in his small notebook, his expression unreadable. Across the aisle, a visibly shaken aide whispered urgently into a senator's ear.
"And what steps," another senator demanded, "are being taken to hold these individuals accountable? The American people deserve answers and, more importantly, justice."
Senator Hastings turned her attention to the Pentagon representative seated at a secondary table. Colonel Wyatt Briggs, assigned to answer on behalf of the Department of Defense, looked uncomfortable under the weight of the room's collective scrutiny.
"Colonel Briggs," Hastings said, "what actions is the Pentagon taking in light of these revelations?"
Briggs' face was pale, but he kept his tone even. "Senator, the Department of Defense has initiated an internal investigation. Additionally, reforms are being proposed to address oversight issues and ensure that similar failures cannot occur."
Hastings' gaze didn't waver. "
And what of General McCready and his alleged involvement?"
Briggs hesitated.
"General McCready is currently under review. Any actions deemed necessary will be taken once the investigation is complete."
Hastings' lips pressed into a thin line.
"That's not good enough, Colonel. The public deserves transparency and accountability, not bureaucratic delays. Lives were lost because of this corruption. Delaying justice only compounds the damage."
A senator to her left leaned forward.
"Colonel Briggs, what about General Landry's office? Some contracts linked to Tayo Dynamics appear to have bypassed standard oversight processes. Was his office involved?"
Briggs visibly hesitated, his throat tightening.
"Senator, while General Landry's office did authorize some of the contracts, there is no conclusive evidence at this time to suggest direct complicity. However, the investigation is ongoing."
The tension in the room sharpened. Hastings pounced on the opening.
"No conclusive evidence? Colonel, you're saying that a high-ranking official at Homeworld Command may have facilitated these contracts without proper oversight, and you're still investigating? This raises serious concerns about the integrity of the command structure itself."
Malloy's voice broke through the mounting tension again.
"With respect, Senators, the issues extend beyond any single office. This is about systemic vulnerabilities that allow individuals to exploit the system. General Landry's involvement, if any, must be determined through thorough investigation. But the broader concern is ensuring that such exploitation cannot happen again."
The quiet officer observed, his pen pausing mid-word at Malloy's statement. The senators exchanged glances, clearly rattled by her assertion.
"Major Malloy, is there anything else you'd like to add?" Senator Hastings asked, her voice measured.
Malloy's voice was quiet but firm.
"Only this, Senator: The men and women who put their lives on the line deserve better. They deserve leaders who prioritize their safety over profits. If we fail them, we fail this nation."
The hearing adjourned shortly after, but the echoes of Malloy's testimony lingered long after the room emptied. Inside, the senators remained behind closed doors, already preparing the next steps in what promised to be a long and contentious battle for accountability.
The officer slipped out unnoticed, his task complete. He would deliver his report personally, ensuring that the General had every hearing detail. Behind the scenes, the general's quiet influence was already setting the stage for the next phase of the fight for justice.
Two days later, the Senate convened another closed-door session. This time, a team of auditors prepared and presented new evidence. The lead auditor, an older woman with silver-streaked hair and piercing blue eyes, began with a chilling revelation.
"Senators," she began, her tone grave. "We have obtained additional financial records and communications that directly tie General McCready to the embezzlement scheme. These include emails explicitly authorizing the transfer of funds to shell companies and correspondences detailing the cover-up of the drone malfunctions that led to fatalities in North Africa."
She placed a series of documents on the table, each stamped "CONFIDENTIAL" in bold red letters. "Furthermore, we've uncovered evidence suggesting that General Landry's office bypassed procurement protocols on at least five occasions, enabling Tayo Dynamics to secure contracts without proper oversight."
The senators leaned in, tension thickening the air. Hastings was the first to speak, her voice cold and unwavering.
"This is damning. And you're certain of the authenticity of these documents?"
"Yes, Senator," the auditor replied. "The records have been verified through multiple channels. There is no doubt about their validity."
The room erupted into murmurs, and Hastings turned to her colleagues.
"We have no choice but to escalate this. The integrity of Homeworld Command and the Pentagon is at stake."
At the back of the room, the emissary quietly observed, his jaw tightening as he made rapid notes. When the session ended, he swiftly exited the room, his next destination clear.
Later that evening, in his office, General Edward Holbrook, one of the most respected figures in the Air Force and a four-star general with a reputation for integrity and decisive leadership who had spent decades safeguarding the institution from external and internal threats, sat in silence, the new report laid out before him.
The damning testimonies about Tayo Dynamics had rattled the Air Force to its core, but for Holbrook, it struck a deeply personal chord. He had seen too many careers destroyed—and lives lost—because of corruption and negligence. Now, Landry and McCready's scheming threatened not only the reputation of the Air Force but also the safety of those like Samantha Carter and Jack O'Neill, two people he quietly respected for their service and sacrifices.
Holbrook wasn't one to sit on the sidelines. His face was a mask of steely resolve as he reached for his secure phone. "This is Holbrook. Get me General Landry and General McCready. They're to report to my office immediately."
Within the hour, as Landry and McCready entered the dimly lit office, Holbrook's gaze locked onto them like a predator sizing up its prey. His desk was cleared except for a single file folder, its edges worn from repeated handling. Inside were documents linking Tayo Dynamics to operational failures and lives lost—failures that would never have occurred if Landry and McCready had upheld the values they were sworn to protect.
Holbrook didn't waste time on pleasantries.
"Sit," he ordered, his voice carrying the weight of four decades of leadership.
Landry and McCready complied, the tension in the room palpable. Holbrook opened the file, his movements deliberate. His jaw tightened as he spoke, his voice colder than usual.
"Years ago, I lost someone—a friend—because of men like you. Someone who trusted the system, who believed people in your position would do the right thing. Instead, they were left to die because greed and ambition got in the way."
Holbrook's eyes burned with quiet fury as he leaned forward. "I swore that wouldn't happen again. That's why I'm here and watching you two squirm in those chairs. You've disgraced this institution, and you've put lives at risk. And now, you're going to fix it."
"This," he said, tapping a folder in front of him, "is the fallout of your actions—contracts fast-tracked without oversight, budgets funneled into untested projects, and, ultimately, the deaths of three operatives in North Africa because a drone failed mid-mission." He let the words hang in the air, his gaze never wavering.
"Sir—" Landry began, but Holbrook cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"Save it, Hank. I've heard every excuse in the book." His voice grew colder. "You thought you were untouchable. That no one would notice. But here's the thing—I notice. And I don't let things slide."
McCready shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hands tightening into fists on his lap. Holbrook's eyes flicked to him.
"And you," Holbrook continued, his tone hardening. "Do you have any idea how much damage you've done? This isn't just about fraud or negligence. It's about lives. Men and women who trusted their leaders, trusted you, to have their backs."
McCready's stomach twisted. For years, he had believed he was playing the system better than anyone else—outmaneuvering, outsmarting, always one step ahead. But Holbrook's words cut deep, exposing the cracks in his confidence. He'd overplayed his hand, and the weight of that realization pressed against his chest like a vice.
His fingers tightened around the arms of his chair as he forced himself to meet Holbrook's gaze. "Sir, I thought... I thought we were acting in the best interests of—"
Holbrook cut him off, his voice like a blade. "The best interests of what? Your bank account? Your ego? Don't insult me, McCready."
Landry's face flushed. "With respect, General, we didn't intend—"
"Intentions don't matter when people are dead!" Holbrook's voice cracked like a whip, cutting off Landry mid-sentence. He exhaled, reining in his frustration, and leaned back slightly. "You don't get to play with lives and then claim ignorance."
The room fell silent again as Holbrook closed the folder and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. The dim light cast shadows across his face, deepening the lines etched by years of hard decisions.
"The Tayo Dynamics scandal is just the tip of the iceberg," he said. "Your actions didn't just risk lives—they undermined everything this institution stands for. And now, you're targeting Carter and O'Neill, the very people who've spent their careers protecting this planet? Tell me, what exactly were you thinking?"
McCready opened his mouth to speak, but Holbrook raised a hand, silencing him.
"Let me make this simple. Back off. No audits. No threats. Fix this mess quietly—or face the consequences. If I so much as hear a whisper of retaliation, I will personally ensure both of you face a court-martial."
Landry's jaw tightened, and McCready's eyes darted to the door as if considering an escape.
"Am I clear?" Holbrook demanded, his tone daring them to argue.
"Yes, Sir," Landry murmured, his voice barely audible.
McCready hesitated before nodding reluctantly. "Understood."
Holbrook's gaze lingered on them momentarily, gesturing toward the door.
"Dismissed."
Landry and McCready stood, their movements stiff and uneasy, and exited the office without another word. As the door closed behind them, Holbrook leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath. The Air Force's integrity had taken a hit, but he was determined to ensure it wouldn't happen again—not on his watch.
As Landry and McCready left Holbrook's office, their defeat was written in every reluctant step. Holbrook had outmaneuvered them with a precision neither man could challenge. The game was over for them, but neither was ready to face the consequences.
Holbrook's influence didn't stop with reprimanding Landry and McCready. He quietly dismantled the systems that had enabled their corruption, pushing for immediate reforms to increase transparency and accountability in military contracting. However, his intervention had an immediate impact on Sam and Jack. The pressure from regulatory audits and whispered threats disappeared almost overnight. Suppliers resumed shipments to their company, and the smear campaign against Jack's past faded into silence.
At their dining table, Jack set down his phone and glanced at Sam, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Looks like someone higher up decided they've had enough of McCready's nonsense."
Sam leaned back in her chair, a cautious relief washing over her. "So... it's over?"
Jack reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "For now. But if they ever try anything again, we'll be ready."
Holbrook's actions protected two who had been the Air Force's finest and reinforced a core truth: even in systemic corruption, integrity and accountability could prevail. For Sam and Jack, the respite he provided gave them a chance to regroup and rebuild, knowing that this battle—at least—was finally won.
The following day, Sam watched the twins chase each other across the yard as Jack tended to the garden. A quiet certainty replaced the weight that had hung over her for months.
Her phone buzzed with a new email from Natalie: another potential partnership, another step forward. Sam smiled, setting the phone aside. For the first time in a long time, the future felt bright. As she joined Jack and the twins, she knew they were unstoppable.
McCready sat stiffly in his office chair, his gaze fixed on the desk's half-empty glass of bourbon. The amber liquid caught the dim light, reflecting the turmoil swirling in his mind. Landry stood by the window, staring at the shadowed Pentagon grounds, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. His reflection in the glass looked older than he felt—a reminder of how much this fight had cost him.
He thought of his daughter, who still looked up to him, proud of the man she believed he was. If Carter and O'Neill succeeded, that illusion would shatter if this went sideways. Landry's chest tightened. He hadn't compromised everything for nothing—not for the sanctimony of two idealists who didn't understand how the real world worked.
"We've lost control of this," McCready muttered, his voice low and rough.
Landry turned, his jaw tightening. "We're not done yet." The words were sharper than intended, laced with the desperation he tried to mask.
McCready's fingers tightened around the glass. "Aren't we? Every day, the walls close in a little more. Carter and O'Neill aren't just soldiers; they're legends. They have allies we can't touch—hell, they are the people the brass idolize. And now Holbrook's involved. It's over, Hank".
Landry's shoulders stiffened at the name. He turned, his expression grim. "Holbrook can posture all he wants, but we know how this game works. Nobody gets to the top without skeletons in their closet. We're just better at keeping ours buried."
"And what happens when someone digs deep enough to find them?" McCready shot back, his voice rising. He set the glass down with a sharp clink, his frustration bleeding. "We've made mistakes, Hank. Pushing those contracts through, bypassing oversight—it's all catching up to us."
Landry crossed the room in a few strides, his jaw tight. "We didn't make mistakes. We made choices. Choices that were supposed to keep this machine running, to protect national security, to get things done when red tape would have stalled us. Do you think anyone else cares about the cost when the outcomes saved lives?"
"Saved lives?" McCready's laugh was bitter. "Three dead operatives in North Africa would disagree." He looked up at Landry, his eyes shadowed. "And now, instead of fixing it, we're scrambling to save our skins. How do we justify that?"
Landry's lips thinned. He dropped into the chair across from McCready, his gaze heavy. "You don't justify it. You survive it. That's all that matters now."
McCready leaned back, exhaustion etched into his features. "And what about Carter and O'Neill? Do we really think we can crush them without it blowing back on us?"
Landry didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted to the window again, and for a moment, he looked older, worn down by the weight of decisions he couldn't undo.
"They're a threat," he said finally, his tone measured. "If we don't push back, we're finished. But we need to tread carefully now. One wrong move and Holbrook will bury us."
McCready picked up the glass and drained the last of the bourbon, the burn doing little to dull the knot in his chest. "Treading carefully isn't going to stop this train wreck, Hank. We both know how this ends."
Landry turned back to him, his expression unreadable. "Maybe."
The room fell into silence again, heavy with unspoken fears and resignation. McCready reached for the bottle to refill his glass, his hand trembling slightly.
"I don't think we can outrun this anymore," he murmured.
Landry didn't reply. He simply turned back to the window, watching the shadows lengthen across the Pentagon grounds.
Two weeks later, Landry's resignation letter circulated quietly through the chain of command. The official statement cited health reasons for his sudden retirement. Privately, he reflected on Holbrook's words and the price of his choices. Landry wasn't always a man who made morally gray decisions. He started his career as an idealistic officer, dedicated to serving his country and protecting its values. But decades in the Pentagon and SGC taught him a brutal truth: ideals don't keep the gears of bureaucracy turning. His first compromise had been small—a favor for a superior to secure funding for a critical operation. Then another. Over time, the lines blurred. He told himself it was all for the greater good. The choices he'd made, the corners he'd cut—they finally caught up to him. Alone in his office for the last time, Landry placed his medals in a small box, their weight heavier than ever.
The last days of James McCready's life were spent in restless paranoia. Shadows seemed longer, and whispers in the Pentagon corridors cut more profoundly than usual. Landry's scathing frustration had rung in his ears since their last confrontation, but something else gnawed at him—an unease he couldn't shake. He wasn't born into power; he clawed his way to it. Raised in a blue-collar family, he had grown up watching his father work himself to the bone for a paycheck that barely covered the bills. That wasn't going to be his life. Ambition had driven him to climb the ranks, outmaneuvering rivals, making connections, and learning when to play dirty.
McCready stared into his bourbon, its amber hues shimmering under the dim glow of his desk lamp, mirroring his unraveling thoughts. He told himself it was nerves, nothing more, and drank more. But the phone calls that came late at night with no one on the other end and the subtle shifts in how his colleagues avoided his gaze weren't nerves. They were warnings. Now, sitting in his office with an empty glass of bourbon, McCready felt the limits of his ambition closing in around him.
He stood abruptly, the glass slipping from his fingers and shattering on the hardwood floor. His heart pounded as he glanced at the darkened window, half expecting to see someone watching. Of course, no one was there—just his reflection, hollow-eyed and pale.
McCready knew the stakes. He had played this game long enough to understand when the tide turned, and it had turned against him. Holbrook's reprimand had shaken Landry, but it had gutted McCready. They had pushed too far, and now, like all good soldiers of the system, he had become expendable.
When he got into his car that night, the dread was a physical weight in his chest. The roads outside Charlottesville were quiet, but he couldn't silence the hum of fear in his mind. McCready gripped the wheel, his knuckles white as shadows seemed to move in the corners of his vision. The engine's hum grew louder, matching the pounding of his heart. He barely registered the screeching tires before the car careened off the road. The last thing he saw was the dark silhouette of a tree rushing toward him.
News of McCready's car accident broke like a flash, the timing feeling anything but coincidental. Sam and Jack were home watching the news when suddenly the anchor interrupted with "Breaking News: Former Pentagon official James McCready has died in a car accident near Charlottesville, Virginia. While authorities are investigating, early reports indicate his blood alcohol level was above the legal limit, raising questions about the circumstances of his death.
The breaking news segment ended, leaving the living room in heavy silence. Jack leaned back, rubbing his temples, while Sam stared at the flickering television, her thoughts a turbulent mix of relief and unease. His phone was still in hand, his jaw tightening as he read the message that had just come through from an old contact.
Sam fixed her gaze on him.
"What is it?" she asked, sensing the shift in his demeanor.
Jack hesitated, his grip tightening on the phone before he spoke.
"McCready's accident—it wasn't an accident."
Sam's breath caught. "What do you mean?"
"Tampered brakes. Missing surveillance footage." Jack's voice was grim, each word weighted. "Someone wanted him silenced."
Her brow furrowed, her mind racing to piece together the implications.
"Someone... or something bigger? Do you think we're still in danger?"
Jack shook his head, though his gaze remained distant.
"Whoever did this, they're cleaning house. But it also means they're done with us—for now."
Sam leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her voice quieter but no less resolute.
"For now. But we can't let our guard down."
Jack reached over, covering her hand with his. "We won't. If they try again, they'll regret it."
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she met his gaze, the weight of his words settling over her.
"I just want it to be over—for us, the boys."
"It will be," Jack said firmly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "We're still standing. That's what matters. And when the next storm comes? We'll be ready."
Sam leaned into his touch, letting his words anchor her. The tension in her chest loosened for the first time in weeks, and she exhaled a slow, steady breath. They didn't speak momentarily, the weight of the news pressing down on them. McCready's name had loomed large in their lives for months, and his actions constantly threatened their safety, family, and future. Now, with his sudden death, an odd mix of relief and unease washed over them.
"Together," she murmured, a faint smile breaking through.
Jack smirked, his familiar confidence returning. "Always."
Silence settled between them for a moment, not heavy with doubt but filled with the quiet understanding that they were standing on the other side of a storm. The world outside might still be chaotic, but here, in this moment, they had each other.
Jack stood, tugging her gently to her feet. "Come on," he said, his tone softening into something lighter. "I think we've earned a break from doom-scrolling and worrying."
Sam arched an eyebrow. "And do what instead?"
His lips quirked into a familiar smirk. "Something normal. Watch a movie. Raid the fridge. Maybe even sleep."
Sam chuckled despite herself, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. She let him lead her away from the remnants of their work, her hand still in his. "Normal sounds good."
Jack squeezed her hand, his voice low and confident. "Then normal it is."
As they turned off the lights and left the room, the soft glow of the fireplace lingered, casting a gentle warmth against the encroaching darkness. Its flickering light was a quiet reminder that a glimmer of hope could endure even in the darkest times. The shadows in the living room stretched longer now, a stark contrast to the warmth of the fire. They had weathered another storm, but the scars it left behind would take time to fade.