Chapter 8 - The Departure
Andrew stood abandoned in the center of the vast, emptying ballroom. Julianna Vance had already departed through the front doors, her security detail escorting her straight to her waiting limousine without a backward glance. The grand holiday tree, towering sixteen feet toward the coffered ceiling with thousands of hand-blown glass ornaments, twinkled absurdly over a scene of complete ruin.
"Rebecca," Andrew croaked, his voice cracking like dry timber. He took a stumbling step toward us, looking pathetic in his bespoke tuxedo. "They’re my children too. You can't just... you can't erase me. I have rights."
"You signed away those rights eight years ago outside a courtroom, Andrew," I said, my voice entirely stripped of rancor, replaced only by a profound, unshakeable finality. "You called them a problem. You told me you couldn't build your life around them. Well, look at them. They didn't need your name. They didn't need your money. And they certainly never needed your cowardice."
Grace, the smallest of the four, looked up at him with clear, innocent curiosity. "My grandfather Sullivan says real soldiers protect people who are small. He says you're just a man wearing a costume."
Andrew flinched as if struck across the mouth. He had no answers. There were no rehearsed excuses, no public relations strategies, and no family connections powerful enough to shield him from the truth delivered by the mouths of children he had tried to erase from the earth.
I turned to General Whitmore, who stood at the base of the staircase, looking like a statue of broken honor.
"General," I acknowledged, offering a crisp, professional nod.
May you like
The old commander brought his right hand up to his brow, returning a slow, impeccably formal military salute. It was the only currency of respect he had left to offer, given not to an ex-daughter-in-law, but to a superior officer of character who had weathered the storm he had allowed his son to create.
I turned on my heel, gathered Benjamin, Lucas, Charlotte, and Grace, and walked out into the crisp winter night.
