Chapter 3 - The Cold War at Breakfast
The transfer happened without a whisper.
Vance and Miller operated like ghosts. At 0230 hours, while my mother and brother were passed out downstairs in a drunken stupor of self-congratulation, Miller disabled the perimeter security cameras with a handheld frequency jammer. Vance escorted Maya down the back service stairs, wrapped in my heavy fleece jacket, straight into an unmarked, armored Chevy Suburban idling at the edge of our tree line.
Maya had clutched my lapels before getting in, her tears soaking into my chest.
"Promise me you’ll be careful," she had sobbed.
"I’m a Green Beret, Maya," I whispered against her ear. "The monsters under the bed check under the bed for me. Go with Vance. Dr. Chen is waiting for you at the safehouse."
The safehouse was an off-grid cabin owned by our unit’s foundation in the Blue Ridge Mountains—secure, monitored by former operators, and equipped with top-tier medical equipment.
Now, it was 0700 hours. The sun rose over the rolling hills of Loudoun County, painting the frost on the front lawn a cold, blinding gold.
I stood in the kitchen, brewing black coffee in the French press. I wore civilian clothes: faded denim jeans, work boots, and an olive-drab thermal shirt with the sleeves pushed up to my forearms. My eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, which suited my cover perfectly.
Footsteps drifted down the stairs. Expensive leather slippers slapped against the oak steps.
Julian walked in first. He was wearing an Italian silk dressing gown over silk pajamas, looking like a counterfeit prince who had never performed a single day of hard labor in his life. The Omega Speedmaster gleamed brazenly on his left wrist.
"Morning, big brother," Julian drawled, walking straight to the espresso machine on the marble island. "Didn't expect to see you up so early. Thought you'd still be sleeping off the desert sand."
"Old habits die hard," I said, my voice deadpan, not looking up as I poured the dark liquid into an earthenware mug. "Body clock is still on Eastern European time."
Julian chuckled, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. "Well, you don't need to stress anymore, Daniel. You did your duty for Uncle Sam. Now that you're home, you can just... ease into things. Let the family carry the load."
"Is that right?" I asked, turning slowly, mug in hand.
Julian flinched slightly—just a microscopic twitch of his pupils—when his gaze met mine. Even after six months of thinking he had stolen my life, the ingrained fear of the big brother who used to pull him out of bar fights still lingered under his skin.
"Yeah," Julian stammered, recovering his smug sneer. "In fact, Mom and I were thinking... you probably need time to decompress. You know, combat stress. PTSD. It wouldn't look good for the company's military logistics contracts if the CEO was having... episodes."
"Episodes," I repeated flatly.
"Julian is only looking out for your well-being, Daniel," my mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen doorway.
Evelyn Mercer entered like an empress reviewing her domain. At fifty-eight, she had spent a fortune on cosmetic surgeries, botox, and blonde dye to maintain the illusion of high-society elegance. She wore a pristine cream-colored cashmere wrap over tailored linen trousers.
She glided past me, reaching out to pat my shoulder with manicured, cold fingers.
"You look so tired, darling," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. "War has aged you terribly. But don't you worry. Your brother has stepped up in a magnificent way. He’s taking Ironclad Hauling to heights you never could have reached with your rigid, military mindset."
"Has he?" I asked, sipping my coffee.
"Oh, absolutely," Evelyn said, pouring herself a cup of hot water with lemon. "Julian secured an international investment syndicate. They're injecting ten million dollars of expansion capital into the business. But, of course, international investors require... stability. Unencumbered leadership."
"Where is Maya?" Julian asked suddenly, his eyes darting toward the ceiling. "She usually has my green smoothie ready by seven. Don't tell me she's sleeping in again. Daniel, I’m telling you, you need to discipline that girl. Pregnancy isn't an excuse for laziness."
*Discipline that girl.*
Inside my head, I saw the purple handprint on Maya’s pregnant belly. I saw the yellowing thumb-bruises along her collarbone.
My grip tightened around the ceramic mug until the glaze creaked under the hydraulic pressure of my fingers. I forced the muscles in my forearm to relax before the cup shattered.
"Maya wasn't feeling well," I said evenly. "She took the car early this morning to see her obstetrician."
Evelyn’s head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. "Which obstetrician?"
"The usual one in Leesburg," I lied smoothly. "Why?"
Evelyn and Julian exchanged a lightning-fast, loaded glance. A shadow of panic crossed Julian’s jaw.
"She shouldn't be driving," Evelyn said, her voice dropping the honeyed tone, replaced by razor-sharp irritation. "She has severe preeclampsia, Daniel. Her blood pressure spikes without warning. She’s prone to fainting and hysteria. Julian, why didn't you hear her leave?"
"I was asleep, Mom!" Julian snapped defensively. "The garage door must have been on manual."
"Call her," Evelyn commanded Julian. "Now. Tell her to turn around. Dr. Harrison is coming *here* at noon to evaluate her. We agreed on that."
Julian pulled his phone out and tapped the screen furiously.
I watched them both. The mask was slipping. The polished facade of the caring matriarch and the helpful younger brother was cracking down the middle, exposing the desperate, predatory vermin underneath.
"She's not answering," Julian growled, lowering the phone. "Straight to voicemail."
Evelyn turned back to me, her smile returning like a painted scar on her face. "Daniel, darling... you should have told us. Maya has been under enormous psychiatric strain while you were away. She’s been imagining things. Making terrible accusations. We’ve had to... protect her from herself."
"What kind of accusations, Mom?" I asked, stepping closer to her.
She didn't back down. Evelyn was a narcissist of the highest order; she believed she was untouchable.
"She claims we're stealing from you," Evelyn sighed dramatically, raising a hand to her chest. "Can you imagine? As if a mother could ever steal from her own flesh and blood. She’s become paranoid, Daniel. Hostile. Yesterday she threatened to hurt herself and the child just to spite us."
The sheer audacity of the lie was breathtaking.
"Is that why she has bruises on her ribs, Mom?" I asked softly.
The kitchen went dead silent. The hum of the refrigerator sounded like a jet engine.
Julian swallowed hard, taking half a step behind the kitchen island.
Evelyn’s eyes flashed with a flicker of calculation, but she didn't blink. "She told you that, did she? I warned you, Daniel. Women in her condition, suffering from psychotic breaks, will inflict self-harm to gain attention. She threw herself against the laundry room counter on Tuesday during a manic fit. Julian had to physically restrain her to keep her from jumping down the back patio stairs!"
"I had to, bro!" Julian chimed in, his voice cracking into a high-pitched whine. "She was screaming, throwing plates! She said she didn't want the baby! I swear to God, Daniel, I only held her to keep your son alive!"
I looked at my brother. I looked at the watch on his wrist.
"I see," I said, setting my coffee cup down on the granite counter with a dull, hollow *clack*. "Thank you for letting me know."
Julian let out a massive sigh of relief, his chest deflating. "Look, man, we just want what's best for the family. We're a team, right?"
"Right," I said. "A team."
I reached out and clapped Julian on the shoulder. My thumb pressed directly into the brachial nerve cluster at the base of his neck.
Julian gasped, his knees buckling an inch as an electric jolt of agony shot down his arm. His face drained of color.
"Just one thing, little brother," I whispered into his ear, maintaining the paralyzing pressure with just five percent of my strength.
"D-Daniel... what are you..." Julian choked out.
May you like
"Take off Grandfather's watch," I murmured, "before I break every single bone in your fingers."
***
