Chapter 6 - ADMIRAL THOMAS MERCER
The old man introduced himself as Vice Admiral Thomas Mercer, retired.
I knew the name.
Every surface warfare officer did.
Mercer had commanded in the Atlantic, served on the Joint Chiefs, and later led a foundation for wounded service members.
His photograph hung in a corridor at the Naval Academy.
I had walked past it as a midshipman without ever noticing that we shared the same eyes.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Because Daniel Mason called me.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“I recognized a name on the guest list, ma’am.”
He nodded toward Mercer.
“He has been asking about you for years.”
My father laughed too loudly.
“This is absurd.”
My mother gripped the edge of a table to steady herself.
Melanie left the head table and came to stand beside me.
“Mom, who is he?”
Mercer looked at my mother, and the years seemed to fold between them.
“Hello, Eleanor.”
She closed her eyes.
“Tom.”
My father turned on her.
“Do not speak to him.”
Something in my mother changed.
It was small, almost invisible, but I saw it.
Her shoulders lifted.
“You do not get to tell me that anymore.”
The ballroom had gone quiet again.
I could feel hundreds of people pretending not to listen.
I asked the planner to take us to a private room.
Ethan told the band to play and asked everyone to begin dinner.
As we crossed the corridor, Mercer walked beside me.
“I owe you an explanation,” he said.
“You owe me nothing until I know who you are.”
Pain moved across his face.
“That is fair.”
We entered a small conference room with blue walls and a long polished table.
My father tried to close the door before Mercer entered.
I held it open.
“He stays.”
Dad looked at my uniform, then at the family gathering behind me.
For the first time, he seemed to understand that authority did not always belong to the loudest man in the room.
Mercer placed a weathered leather folder on the table.
May you like
Inside were thirty-six unopened copies of letters.
Each one carried my name.
