“I’m not my brother. And all my clearances were renewed.”

“I know that.” The man fell silent and tapped the arm of his chair.

Puller said nothing. He knew what was coming next. It always did.

“So why not West Point for you, Puller? And why CID? Your military service is solid gold. Top scores at Ranger School. Hell of a combat record. A leader in the field. Your father earned forty-nine major medals over three decades and he’s an Army legend. You garnered nearly half that in six tours of combat in Iraq and Afghanistan. Two Silvers, one of which landed you in rehab for three months, three Bronzes with V-devices, and a trio of Purples. And you bagged a guy on the fifty-two-card most wanted deck in Iraq, right?”

“Five of spades, sir,” said Puller.

“Right. So you’ve got more than enough stars and scars. Army loves that combo. You’re a stud with an impeccable military pedigree. If you’d stayed with the Rangers you’d be a shoo-in for the top enlisted spot. If you’d gone to West Point you’d be a major or maybe even a lieutenant colonel by now. And you could’ve earned at least two shoulder stars before you left the Army. Hell, maybe three like your old man if you played the political games right. At CID an enlisted man tops out at command sergeant major. And my predecessor told me the only reason you filed your warrant officer application was because sergeant first classes sit their butts behind desks at CID while WOs can still get out in the field.”

“I don’t much like desks, sir.”

“So here you are, at CID. On the low side of the bars and clusters. And I’m not the first to wonder about that, soldier.”

Puller let his gaze drop to the other man’s row of ribbons. White was dressed in the Army’s new blue Class Bs that were over time replacing the old greens.