Character Deep Dive: Stephen Chase—The Mind Behind the Duty

Stephen Chase has a single, all-consuming purpose: to keep his son Jace alive. Every decision he makes at the outset of The Citadel Protocol—from accepting the security gig to fleeing to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula—is driven by that purpose.

But what influences Stephen and his decisions? Of course, the events of The Citadel Protocol, but mentally, cognitively, what influences him?

Anxious Calculus at the Kitchen Table

The instant Stephen lays eyes on the $22,450 debt, his world fractures.

Stephen looked up from the list he’d been working on for hours. He wasn’t sure how things had spiraled so far out of control—but they had. A bead of sweat rolled down his brow as the weight of what the list represented sank in. A tightness gripped his chest, and his anxiety surged like a rising tide.       

He glanced across the table at his wife, who was scribbling on a similar list. His voice came out as a strained gasp. “Shelly… I think we’re screwed.”

At that moment—when the total on the paper jumps to $22,450—Stephen’s world fractures. The comforting promise, “It’ll all come out in the wash,” shatters: his insurance has reached its cap, and Jace’s life now hangs in the balance.

This is a familiar terror for families across the country—an empty pit in the stomach when a medical bill arrives. I drew on that shared dread when writing The Citadel Protocol: it’s recognizable, horrifying in its own right, and painfully real.

When I wrote “If Jace doesn’t get this treatment, he dies,” I wasn’t padding the story with extra anxiety; I was voicing the stark truth any parent might confront in that moment. Hearing Stephen whisper those words magnifies the tension: every gallon of gas, every grocery run becomes an agonizing choice.

That $22,450 debt is Stephen’s inflection point—an insurmountable hurdle he can’t clear overnight and a shadow that clings to every decision he makes.

Risk vs. Reward: Be at Risk, or Arm Himself?

Stephen has no idea how to handle a firearm—and I wanted that clear from the start. What readers never see in The Citadel Protocol is why he carries a pistol at all if he can’t use it. He bought it because society is unraveling, plain and simple. He bought it to safeguard his family, even though he doesn’t know how to pull the trigger.

That detail didn’t survive the final cut, but it matters: it shows the lengths a parent will go to protect loved ones, even when unqualified. Stephen genuinely meant to learn, to use the weapon responsibly, and to keep his family safe.

Slipping the pistol onto his hip for that first night at the warehouse wasn’t about self-preservation—it was an act of devotion. Carter practically pressed it into his hand, warning that carrying it was illegal but insisting all the same. Stephen only took it when Carter reminded him that without him, Jace and Shelly wouldn’t survive. That statement sealed his decision.

In that moment, legality ceased to matter. All that remained was family. When Stephen stepped out of Carter’s office, he understood one thing: Jace and Shelly needed him, and he would do whatever it took to be there for them.

The Growing Violence – Stephen’s Descent

On Stephen’s first night at the warehouse, his greatest fear wasn’t the creaking shelves or the deadening fluorescent hum—it was the riots and murders raging outside. He rarely glanced at televised news, yet every screen and whispered rumor hammered home the same truth: chaos had no pattern, only random violence and societal collapse. Incidents like Haint Blues weren’t anomalies; they were the new normal.

The warehouse gig felt like a flimsy lifeline—a tossed string when what his family needed was a tow strap. Even in a stable world, Jace’s condition would have strained their limits. Stephen took the shift as a desperate attempt to dull his helplessness, though he couldn’t admit that to himself.

Deep down, he knew the odds. Still, he clung to hope—believing that if he just held on, things might miraculously align. But after the second night’s horrors, that hope began to unravel.

Fleeing to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula became their final gamble: escape from violence, from the law, from the world they once knew. They packed for a few weeks at best and hadn’t planned for Jace’s medicine to run dry. Like any family, they assumed they could replenish later—until reality proved otherwise.

Stephen clung to hope.

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