Chapter 9 - The Threat That Followed Us Home
I had spent most of my life believing Dad favored Brandon because he saw himself in his son.
Brandon played football.
Brandon liked hunting.
Brandon joined the military without pursuing a commission.
Brandon laughed at Dad's stories, repeated his opinions, and accepted his advice as gospel.
I was different.
I argued.
I asked questions.
I wanted to understand why.
When Dad said women didn't belong in certain jobs, I asked him to show me the regulation.
When he said leadership meant obedience, I asked whether that included obeying unlawful orders.
By seventeen, I had become the family troublemaker.
Brandon had become its golden child.
But the possibility that Dad's behavior also involved fear was harder to understand.
Fear could explain some choices.
It couldn't excuse them.
And it certainly couldn't excuse the way he had treated me.
At 0700 the next morning, Cole told me investigators had obtained a copy of the 2001 letter through the retired warrant officer.
The letter had been preserved with related correspondence, although its provenance and authenticity still required verification.
A portion of its language was particularly disturbing.
It warned that reopening the Fort Carson case could cause information about the Owens family to become public.
The implied threat was vague.
The reference to children was explicit.
The sender's identity was not established.
"Was it blackmail?" I asked.
"Possibly. We shouldn't label it before the evidence supports that conclusion."
"Fair."
Cole studied me.
"I know this is personal."
"Very."
"Which is why you need to stay outside that part of the investigation."
"I will."
That afternoon, Mom arrived in San Diego.
She hadn't told Dad.
When she stepped into my hotel lobby, she looked smaller than I remembered.
Her silver hair was pulled into a loose bun.
She wore the same navy cardigan she'd owned for years.
I hugged her.
For a moment, she held me so tightly I could barely breathe.
"Oh, sweetheart."
I hadn't heard her call me that in months.
We sat near the window overlooking the waterfront.
"Did you come because of Brandon?" I asked.
"Partly."
"And Dad?"
She folded her hands.
"Your father has been hiding things from us for years."
"What things?"
She reached into her purse.
"I found this when we moved out of the Colorado house."
She placed a small envelope on the table.
My name was written across the front.
Not Sandra.
To Our Daughter, Sandra Elizabeth Owens.
It was Dad's handwriting.
I looked up.
"What's this?"
"I don't know. He told me never to open it."
"When did he write it?"
"After his heart surgery."
That had been eleven years earlier.
I remembered flying home between assignments.
Dad had spent my entire visit talking about Brandon's latest promotion.
Then he criticized my haircut.
I had returned to Washington convinced nothing would ever change.
"Why didn't you give it to me?"
Mom's eyes filled.
"Because I was afraid of upsetting him."
I looked at her.
"I know."
She wiped her cheeks.
"I spent so many years keeping peace in that house that I forgot peace isn't the same as silence."
I carefully opened the envelope.
Inside was a single folded page.
The ink had faded slightly.
Sandra,
There are things a father should tell his daughter, and things a soldier should never ask his children to carry.
I made a decision years ago that hurt people who deserved better.
I don't know how to tell you without admitting that the man you looked up to wasn't the man I pretended to be.
The page shook in my hand.
There was another paragraph.
You became everything I claimed to respect. Instead of being proud, I was ashamed that you had the courage I lacked.
I stopped reading.
Mom reached across the table.
"Sandra?"
I continued.
If I ever find the strength to tell you the rest, I hope you'll listen. But I won't ask you to forgive me.
It was signed Richard Owens.
No explanation.
No details.
Just an admission that he had been ashamed of me because I was brave.
I stared at the paper for a long time.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Cole.
The investigators have confirmed Commander Vale and your father spoke six times in the forty-eight hours before the inspection.
Another message followed.
One call was made less than ten minutes after Brandon received his assignment to Sterett.
I looked at Mom.
She saw something in my expression.
"What is it?"
I folded the letter.
"I think Dad knew Brandon was being used."
May you like
And for the first time, I began to wonder whether my brother had been the favored child—
Or the easiest one to control.
