Chapter 3 - The Broken Pedestal
By ten o'clock the following morning, the sun was shining bright and clear over downtown Nashville.
I was sitting in the quiet lounge of the Hermitage Hotel, wearing my comfortable flight suit uniform—dark sage green with two silver stars pinned to the collar, my flight wings gleaming on my chest—drinking a black coffee while reviewing troop movement manifests on my secure military tablet.
The heavy glass doors of the lounge opened.
Camille walked in. She was wearing simple blue jeans, a cream sweater, and oversized sunglasses that failed to hide the dark shadows under her eyes. She looked smaller, stripped of the glossy corporate armor she usually wore.
She walked straight to my table and sat down in the leather armchair opposite me.
"He spent the entire night blaming you," Camille said softly, setting her handbag on the floor. Her voice was raw, stripped of all its socialite polish. "After you left, Dad had three more scotches and spent two hours ranting in the study about how 'ungrateful' you were. He said you ruined his relationship with Senator Vance's office."
I took a sip of my coffee, keeping my eyes fixed on her. "And what did you say?"
Camille looked down at her hands, her manicured nails digging into her palms. "I asked him if he ever actually loved us, or if we were just employees he didn't have to pay."
I stayed quiet, letting her sit with that realization.
"I called our corporate office at seven this morning," Camille continued, her voice shaking slightly. "I went into the land lease files for the riverfront project. Reid was right. Dad had put together a lobby strategy folder weeks ago. On the top page, under 'Strategic Contacts,' was your name, your military title—which he had looked up on a public database—and a note saying 'Utilize Evelyn's DOD leverage for zoning waiver.'"
Camille looked up at me, tears welling in her eyes. "He didn't even know what your job was, Evie, but he was already planning to use it to save his company."
"Is the company in trouble, Camille?" I asked gently.
Camille wiped a tear from her cheek, letting out a ragged breath. "Mercer Development is overleveraged by forty million dollars. Dad took out massive short-term loans to buy up distressed properties along the riverfront, assuming he would easily get the federal zoning override and municipal tax breaks. If the DOD zoning board rejects the lease waiver, the banks are going to call in the loans by the end of Q4. The whole company will collapse."
I leaned back in my chair, absorbing the financial reality of my father's empire. It was classic Charles Mercer: grand ambition built on speculative debt, held together by high-society networking and ethical shortcuts.
"And where do you fit into this, Camille?" I asked.
"I'm the Executive Vice President," Camille said, her voice dropping into a whisper. "My name is on half those loan guarantees, Evie. Dad persuaded me to sign as a co-guarantor two years ago, telling me it was part of 'preparing me to take over the family business.' If Mercer Development goes bankrupt, I go bankrupt with him. My personal assets, my savings, my credit... everything I've built for ten years will be wiped out."
The sheer scale of my father's betrayal became painfully clear. Charles hadn't just neglected me; he had actively used my sister as a financial meat shield to cover his reckless gambling in the commercial real estate market.
"Does Reid know?" I asked.
"I told him everything this morning," Camille sobbed, covering her face with her hands. "I offered to give him back the engagement ring, Evie. I told him he shouldn't marry into a family that's about to be ruined by a public corporate scandal."
"And what did Reid say?"
Camille looked up, a soft, watery smile touching her lips despite her tears. "He told me to shut up and put the ring back on. He said Special Forces officers don't abandon their partners when things get tough. He told me his family's legal team is already reviewing the co-guarantor contracts I signed to see if we can invalidate my liability due to corporate misrepresentation."
I smiled softly. "Captain Lawson is a good man, Camille. I told you last night—his instincts are solid."
"He respects you so much, Evie," Camille said, looking at my uniform, at the silver stars resting on my collar. "When we were driving back to his apartment last night, he told me stories about your command in Iraq and Syria. He showed me news articles about you leading air wings during major combat operations. I spent sixteen years believing Dad's story that you were just a low-level military bureaucrat who couldn't cut it in the real world... and all this time, you were out there saving lives and commanding thousands of people."
Camille reached across the table and took my hand, her grip tight and desperate. "I am so sorry, Evie. I am so, so sorry I never asked. I was so caught up in pleasing Dad, in being the 'perfect daughter,' that I never took the time to see who my sister really was."
I squeezed her hand tightly, feeling sixteen years of cold, buried resentment melt away under the genuine warmth of her apology.
"You don't have to apologize for Dad's choices, Camille," I said softly. "You were a kid trying to survive a narcissistic father, just like I was. I coped by leaving and joining the military. You coped by staying and trying to earn love that was never going to be given freely."
Camille let out a long, shuddering sob, nodding her head in agreement.
"So," I said, my voice shifting back into crisp, decisive command tone, "what are we going to do about Charles Mercer?"
May you like
Camille blinked, wiping her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Your father built a house of cards on your back, Camille," I said, leaning forward. "And he tried to use my uniform to prop it up. It's time we take the cards out from under him and save your career before he drags you into the abyss with him."
