Chapter 6 - MARIBEL’S COLLAPSEThe room spun around my father. He looked at the DoD folder, then at the shattered wineglass on the floor, then at my mother, whose face had gone completely pale as she realized the financial pillars of her entire social existence were crumbling in real-time.
Maribel, realizing that the lifestyle she had taken for granted—the designer clothes, the luxury cars, the endless shopping sprees funded by government maritime subsidies—was vanishing before her eyes, finally snapped.
"This is all your fault!" Maribel screamed, pointing a shaking finger directly at me, her face twisting into an ugly mask of fury. "You couldn't just be normal! You had to go play soldier, you had to get blown up, and now you’ve ruined everything! You’ve always been jealous of me, of us, and you brought this man here just to ruin our lives!"
I didn't yell back. I didn't cry. I simply looked at my sister—a woman who had never worked a day in her life, who measured human value by brand labels and country club memberships—and felt a profound, liberating pity.
"Maribel," I said, my voice steady and clear. "I spent four days in a military hospital wondering if I would ever move my fingers again. Do you know what I thought about while I was lying there? I thought about whether my family would care if I died. And today, I finally got my answer."
Admiral Vance looked down at me with immense respect. "Lieutenant Varrick, you don't belong in this room. You never did."
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He turned back to my father, who was now slumped over the table, staring blankly at the empty plates.
"Get your affairs in order, Declan," the admiral said coldly. "By tomorrow morning, federal investigators will be seizing your corporate hard drives. And if I ever hear that you or your wife speak another harsh word to this young woman, I will personally ensure you spend the rest of your golden years in a federal penitentiary."
