Chapter 7 - Grant Asked Vanessa One Question She Couldn’t Answer
Grant came back the following morning without Vanessa.
He sat in Dad’s old office.
The overturned leather chair had been replaced.
The marble table still had a faint water mark from where he poured out my glass.
He looked at the pin on my collar.
“How long did Vanessa know?”
“Know what?”
“That you served.”
“My entire life.”
His jaw tightened.
“Did she know you were Keystone?”
“Yes.”
That surprised him.
I explained.
Dad had kept a small locked file containing both daughters’ major records.
Degrees.
Service papers.
Estate documents.
My final military evaluation.
A commendation letter connected to the personnel-recovery cell.
Vanessa had seen it when we settled Dad’s estate.
Grant looked sick.
“She told me you invented the whole thing.”
“I know that now.”
“She said you tried to attach yourself to veterans because your father’s clinic gave you status.”
I said nothing.
Grant looked down at his hands.
Then asked:
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Why would I?”
That stopped him.
We had met six times.
Always through Vanessa.
He had never asked me about my life.
Never asked where I served.
Never asked why a clinic full of veterans trusted me.
He had accepted Vanessa’s version because it was convenient.
Grant finally nodded.
“You’re right.”
May you like
That mattered more than an apology.
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