MY BROTHER SPENT SIX YEARS TELLING EVERYONE I HAD WASHED OUT OF THE NAVY, SO I STOOD SILENTLY IN THE BACK OF HIS SEAL CEREMONY—UNTIL THE MAJOR GENERAL SAW ME, FORGOT HIS MICROPHONE WAS ON, AND SAID, “OH WOW, YOU ACTUALLY CAME?” WHAT DID HE KNOW ABOUT ME? / Chapter 9 / 20

Chapter 9 - The Final InheritanceTwo days after the briefing with General Harrison, I drove out to the sprawling Mercer family estate in La Jolla for the first time in six years.

The massive wrought-iron gates stood wide open. No security guards stood at the entrance. The manicured lawns looked slightly neglected, and the massive circular driveway was entirely empty except for my rental sedan.

When I stepped out of the car, the heavy Spanish-style oak front door was standing half-open.

Inside, the grand foyer—once a monument to my father’s corporate arrogance and social standing—was eerily silent. Crystal chandeliers still glittered overhead, but the expensive artwork had already been tagged by federal marshals with bright orange seizure notices.

I walked into the study.

My father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, staring blankly at a single cardboard box containing a few framed photographs and a stack of legal documents. He looked ten years older, his tailored suit rumpled, his hair uncombed.

He didn't look up when I walked in.

“The lawyers called an hour ago,” my father said, his voice a dry, defeated croak. “The house is being foreclosed. The corporate assets have been liquidated. Your mother has gone to stay with her sister in Phoenix.”

I stopped in the middle of the room, looking at the man who had spent my entire life measuring my worth by a military standard he believed I could never reach.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said quietly.

“Don't be,” he muttered, finally raising his bloodshot eyes to meet mine. “You warned us. Years ago, when you tried to tell us about Tyler’s spending... we chose the son who looked good in a uniform.” He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Turns out the uniform was just a costume.”

He pushed the cardboard box across the desk toward me.

“There’s something in there for you. It came in the mail yesterday, addressed to your old room.”

I stepped forward and looked inside the box. Resting on top of a stack of old childhood photo albums was a small, worn leather-bound diary—my mother’s old journal from when I was a little girl.

I picked it up, flipping open the cover. On the first page, my mother had written in neat cursive: “Chloe is quiet today. She notices everything. She’s going to be extraordinary.”