Chapter 2 - THE COMPANY BEHIND THE PERFECT LIFEThomas hung up on me.
She tried to make it sound gentle.
It wasn’t.
“Mom, please don’t take this the wrong way,” Emily said. “Dad and Rebecca are hosting this year, and… we want Rebecca to feel like she’s really part of the family.”
I was standing beside the narrow window in my office at Peterson Space Force Base, watching snow streak sideways through the gray Colorado afternoon.
For several seconds, I said nothing.
Emily filled the silence.
“She’s been trying really hard.”
“I’m sure she has.”
“And Dad thinks it would be awkward if—”
“If I were there?”
Emily exhaled.
That was answer enough.
I stared at my reflection in the darkening glass.
Colonel Laura Mercer.
Forty-nine years old.
Thirty years in uniform.
Two combat deployments.
Three commands.
A career built on learning how to stay calm when everyone else in the room had forgotten how.
Yet nothing in the military had prepared me for hearing my own daughter politely explain why Christmas would be better without me.
“I understand,” I said.
“Mom—”
“You don’t need to explain.”
“I don’t want you to be alone.”
That almost made me laugh.
Emily had no idea how many Christmases I had spent alone.
Christmas in a communications bunker in Germany.
Christmas in Kuwait eating turkey from a plastic tray.
Christmas aboard a transport aircraft somewhere over the Atlantic while everyone else slept beneath red cabin lights.
Loneliness did not frighten me.
Being erased did.
Still, I refused to make my daughter carry the weight of my hurt.
“I’ll be fine, sweetheart.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The call ended.
I stood there another minute before turning back to my desk.
A volunteer sign-up sheet sat open on my computer.
The Joint Operations Center needed a senior officer willing to take the Christmas Eve overnight watch.
I typed my name.
My divorce from Emily’s father, Thomas Mercer, had been final for almost four years.
We had been married twenty-six.
People often assume long marriages end because of one spectacular betrayal.
Ours died slowly.
One missed anniversary at a time.
One resentment at a time.
One conversation avoided because both people were too tired to fight.
Thomas had spent most of our marriage insisting that my military career was something the family endured for me.
Never mind that he enjoyed the houses, the benefits, the travel, the introductions, and eventually the consulting opportunities that came through contacts he made while standing beside me.
After we divorced, he rebuilt his life quickly.
Rebecca Hale appeared ten months later.
She was polished, stylish, twelve years younger than me, and extraordinarily talented at making Thomas feel as though every difficulty he had ever experienced had been caused by someone else.
Mostly me.
By that December, Rebecca had apparently become the woman my family needed to protect from my presence.
So I stayed away.
Christmas Eve arrived under heavy snow.
At 6:00 p.m., I entered the operations center carrying a thermos and a paper bag filled with cinnamon rolls.
Captain Reyes looked surprised.
“Ma’am, you didn’t have to cover this.”
“I volunteered.”
“But it’s Christmas.”
“So I’ve heard.”
He smiled cautiously.
Around us, enormous wall displays showed satellite tracks, military communications networks, weather systems, and secure status boards.
Someone had placed miniature Santa hats on two monitor corners.
A plastic Christmas tree stood beside the classified printer.
At 7:42 p.m., Emily texted me a photograph.
Thomas’s house glowed behind her.
Rebecca stood beside the fireplace wearing a red dress.
My son Daniel had flown in from Seattle.
My former mother-in-law sat smiling beside a mountain of presents.
Everyone was there.
Except me.
Emily’s message read:
Wish you were here, Mom.
I stared at it.
Then typed:
Have a beautiful Christmas. I love you.
I did not ask why I had been excluded from a gathering she wished I could attend.
Some questions answer themselves.
At 11:48 p.m., the operations center settled into that strange Christmas-night quiet familiar to people who serve.
Half the staff drank coffee.
Someone played instrumental Christmas music at low volume.
I had just begun reviewing an overnight briefing package when Sergeant Wilkins approached me.
“Colonel Mercer?”
“Yes?”
“There’s a priority secure call from the National Military Command Center.”
I immediately straightened.
Christmas vanished.
“Put it through.”
The call lasted eleven minutes.
When it ended, every person in the room was staring at me.
Not because they knew what had been said.
Because they knew who had called.
I signed the acknowledgement sheet, closed the secure terminal, and reached for my coffee.
Then my personal phone vibrated.
12:03 a.m.
Emily.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
Then I saw the second call.
And the third.
I answered.
“Emily?”
She was crying so hard I could barely understand her.
“Mom?”
I stood.
“What happened?”
“Dad just got a call.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What kind of call?”
“He went white. Rebecca’s screaming at him. Daniel doesn’t know what’s happening.”
“Emily, slow down.”
Her next words silenced me.
“Mom… why did the Pentagon just contact Dad?”
Across the operations center, every screen continued glowing.
No alarms sounded.
No one moved.
But something inside me shifted.
Because Thomas Mercer had spent the last four years telling our children that my career was insignificant.
That my rank was ceremonial.
That I had chosen uniforms and titles over my family.
What he had never told them was that the civilian defense company paying for his new house, his expensive trips, and Rebecca’s carefully curated life had recently become the subject of a federal security investigation.
And twenty minutes earlier, I had been informed of something even worse.
Thomas wasn’t merely employed by the company.
His name appeared on documents no one expected to find.
“Emily,” I said quietly, “put your father on the phone.”
She sniffed.
“He says he won’t talk to you.”
“Then tell him Colonel Mercer is requesting that he answer.”
Silence.
Then muffled voices.
A man shouted.
Rebecca screamed something I couldn’t make out.
Finally Thomas came on the line.
His voice had changed.
For the first time in years, he didn’t sound superior.
He sounded afraid.
“Laura.”
“Merry Christmas, Thomas.”
“What did you do?”
I looked toward the secure screens behind me.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why is the Department of Defense calling my house at midnight?”
I lowered my voice.
“Because, Thomas, whatever you’ve gotten yourself involved in is apparently much bigger than either of us realized.”
The line went silent.
Then I heard him whisper:
May you like
“Oh, God.”
And that was when I knew he already understood exactly what they had found.
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