Julian stepped forward, trying to salvage his father’s standing, though his pale skin gave away his deep anxiety. “Clarissa, Dad was just saying we should talk. It’s been ten years. Family shouldn’t hold grudges, especially not on a day like today. Why don’t you come home to the estate tonight? We can discuss Grandfather’s final arrangements together.”

I looked at my brother, then at my father. For ten years, I had carried the shame of their rejection, wondering if I had made a mistake by choosing the Army Medical Corps over the family fortune. I remembered the cold nights in field hospitals, the endless emergency surgeries, the blood on my scrubs, and the immense pride of saving young men and women who had nowhere else to turn. I had built a life of real consequence, while they had built a fortress of cards out of greed and deception.

“I will be at the estate tonight,” I said, my voice echoing with the firm authority I used when running a trauma bay under fire. “But not for dinner, Dad. And certainly not to discuss your contracts.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What is that supposed to mean? You don’t belong in those boardrooms, Clarissa. You’re a doctor. You fix wounds. You don’t understand high finance or the reality of this family’s operations.”

I reached into my pocket, placed my grandfather’s silver lighter into my coat, and looked my father straight in the eyes.

“You’re right about one thing, Dad,” I said quietly, stepping down from the stone porch toward my assigned military vehicle. “I do fix things when they are broken. And tomorrow morning, we are going to see just how deep the damage goes.”

Leaving them standing in the rain under the shadow of the Pentagon flags, I opened the car door. The war for the Vance legacy had officially begun, and this time, I was fully prepared for the fight.