Chapter 3 - THE FACE ON THE CHRISTMAS EVE NEWS
By noon on Christmas Day, the internet had decided it knew my entire life.
Some people called me a hero.
I hated that.
Others called my father heartless.
I hated that too.
A few people discovered Mercer Logistics.
That was when everything became dangerous.
The story would probably have died in twenty-four hours if Bryce had stayed quiet.
He did not.
At 11:38 a.m., he agreed to a local television interview from the front steps of my father’s house.
He wore a navy sweater and the expression he used whenever he believed a camera liked him.
“We’re incredibly proud of Leah,” he said. “There’s been a misunderstanding online. She’s always been very career focused.”
Career focused.
I watched the interview from my desk during a ten-minute meal break.
Behind him, Christmas wreaths hung from every window.
A reporter asked, “Was Captain Mercer originally expected at the family gathering?”
Bryce smiled.
“I really don’t discuss private family conversations.”
Which was impressive considering he had just spent four minutes discussing our private family.
Then the reporter asked the question that changed the entire day.
“Is it true Mercer Logistics used Captain Mercer’s military image in promotional materials?”
Bryce’s smile froze.
I stopped chewing.
The reporter continued.
“Several online users have posted company newsletters showing Captain Mercer during deployment beside the phrase Serving Those Who Serve. Did she approve those materials?”
My stomach dropped.
I had forgotten about those newsletters.
Years earlier, Dad asked if Mercer Logistics could mention that “our family proudly supports military service.”
I said fine.
I had never agreed to become advertising.
Bryce recovered quickly.
“We’ve always celebrated Leah’s service.”
Another reporter shouted, “Did you profit from federal contracts while using her image?”
The interview ended thirty seconds later.
Major Ellis stood beside my desk.
“This is getting ugly.”
“I know.”
“Do you need leave?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
I looked at the operations board.
The emergency was stabilizing.
Road crews had reopened two major corridors.
Power restoration was improving.
But leaving because my family had created a public-relations disaster felt worse than staying.
“I finish my shift.”
She nodded.
At 2:15, my father called again.
I stepped outside the operations center.
“What?”
His voice was tight.
“You need to release a statement.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard what I need.”
“You need me to say nobody excluded me.”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
“Leah,” he said, “this is damaging the company.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The company.”
“This affects hundreds of employees.”
“You should have thought about that before Bryce went on television.”
“I did not authorize that interview.”
“But you want me to clean it up.”
“I want you to tell the truth.”
I nearly laughed.
“The truth is that you told me not to come home.”
“I asked you to let Bryce have one evening.”
“On Christmas.”
“Stop making everything sound cruel.”
“I’m repeating your words.”
Dad lowered his voice.
“You know what your problem is?”
I waited.
“You always make everything about principle.”
For some reason, that hurt more than the Christmas call.
Maybe because he said it like principle was a character flaw.
“My problem,” I said, “is that I believed you when you said family mattered more than business.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Bring your mother into this.”
I had not mentioned Mom.
His reaction told me more than a confession would have.
“You knew about the trust.”
Silence.
“Dad?”
“This is not a conversation for the phone.”
“You knew.”
“I have managed that company for thirty years.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
His voice hardened.
“The trust was outdated estate planning.”
“Then why did you never tell me I owned part of the company?”
“You were serving overseas.”
“For eleven years?”
“You showed no interest.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You never asked.”
Something inside me went still.
“That’s your defense?”
“I protected what your mother built.”
“Our mother.”
He corrected himself automatically.
“Your mother.”
Bryce was not Mom’s son.
That distinction apparently mattered only when convenient.
I stared at the gray Christmas sky.
“Did you know federal auditors were looking at Mercer Logistics?”
Another silence.
“Who told you that?”
“Answer me.”
“I will not discuss company investigations with you while you’re working at a military facility.”
“That sounds responsible. You should try putting it on your procurement forms.”
He inhaled sharply.
“Leah.”
“Did Bryce sign the emergency transportation certification?”
“I’m ending this conversation.”
“Dad—”
The call disconnected.
I stood outside for several seconds.
Then I heard the operations-center door open.
Sergeant Ruiz stepped outside.
“Everything okay, ma’am?”
“No.”
He nodded as though I had said the weather was cold.
“My family’s crazy too.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“That supposed to help?”
“No. Just wanted you to know civilians don’t have a monopoly.”
I laughed.
It was the first real laugh I had managed all day.
At 4:00 p.m., the emergency posture downgraded.
Major Ellis ordered me home.
“I can stay.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
I saluted.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Before leaving, I checked my phone again.
The Christmas clip had crossed six million views.
A hashtag using my name was trending.
Someone had found a photograph of Mercer Logistics’ Christmas gala from the previous night.
In the center stood Bryce.
Beside him was the chairman of a bank.
Two major customers.
Three directors.
And Malcolm Reed.
I zoomed in.
Malcolm had been my mother’s first accountant.
He left Mercer Logistics fifteen years ago after what Dad described as “professional differences.”
I had not seen him since I was nineteen.
Why had Malcolm Reed been invited to Bryce’s promotion?
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then the voicemail notification appeared.
I listened.
“Leah, this is Malcolm Reed. I’m sorry to contact you like this. Your mother asked me years ago to call you if certain circumstances ever occurred.”
I stopped walking.
His voice continued.
“I believe those circumstances have occurred.”
Then he said something that made the cold disappear from my face.
“Your father didn’t simply fail to tell you about your shares.”
A pause.
“He tried to buy them from your trust without telling you.”
I replayed the sentence.
Twice.
At the end of the voicemail, Malcolm left an address.
A small law office in Alexandria.
May you like
And one final sentence.
“Before you vote at that board meeting, Leah, you need to know what happened during the last six months of your mother’s life.”
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