Chapter 5 - The Unopened Letters
Elaine looked up, her face pale, her lips trembling so violently she could barely articulate words. "Natalie... he brought us the discharge letter. It had the official Air Force emblem on top. It said you had been separated for grand larceny and insubordination."
"He forged a memorandum," I said coldly. "Just like he forged thirty-seven aircraft inspection certificates. And you believed a piece of paper over your own daughter's character."
"We were so ashamed," Robert confessed, his voice breaking into a ragged, pathetic sob. The proud, unyielding patriarch who had ruled our Montana home with absolute authority had shrunk into a broken old man. "The Mercer name had four generations of military service. My father was in Korea. I served in Germany. When Ryan told us you had been kicked out for stealing... I couldn't bear to look at anyone in town. I let my pride choke my brain."
"And what about my letters?" I asked, taking half a step closer. "What about the photos from my graduation? What about the package I sent from Germany with souvenirs for Mom's birthday?"
Elaine gasped, clutching her chest. "What letters? Natalie, we never got a single letter from you! We thought you abandoned us! We thought you moved to the West Coast and changed your name because you hated us!"
I froze. A sudden, chilling realization crept up my spine.
"The letters were mailed to our home address in Bozeman," I said slowly. "Every six months for the first five years. I sent you my promotion orders to First Lieutenant. I sent you photos of my unit at Ramstein. I sent you an invitation to my captain's promotion ceremony at Nellis."
Robert’s eyes widened in sudden, horrifying comprehension. He turned his head toward the end of the hallway, where the holding cell door stood closed behind reinforced glass.
"Ryan lived at home during his reserve transition years," Robert whispered, the words tasting like poison on his tongue. "He had the key to the roadside mailbox. He picked up the mail every single afternoon before your mother and I got home from the hardware store."
"He intercepted them," Elaine shrieked, collapsing back onto the wooden bench, clutching her head in utter agony. "He took my baby's letters! For fourteen years, he let me believe my little girl was gone!"
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The hallway doors swung open again. Two federal agents from the Air Force Office of Special Investigations walked past us, flanked by an armed escort, heading straight for the holding room with fresh warrants in their hands.
The trap Ryan had spent half his life constructing was about to collapse on top of him.
