Chapter 10 - The Last ToastThat evening, I stood alone on the wraparound porch of the Oakridge Drive estate.
The federal forfeiture process was complete, and the deed was now permanently registered in my name alone. I had spent the afternoon clearing out the last of Marlene and Grant’s gaudy, pretentious furniture, replacing it with the simple, solid oak pieces my father had built with his own hands.
The sun was setting behind the treeline, casting long, golden shadows across the lawn.
I poured a single glass of vintage champagne—the kind my father had kept locked in his study for special occasions—and walked down the steps to the edge of the patio.
Two hundred guests had laughed at me in a grand ballroom a year ago, believing I was nothing. They had thought my silence was weakness, and my uniform was a costume.
I raised the crystal glass toward the fading light, my gold major’s leaves catching the final rays of the sun.
May you like
"To family," I whispered into the quiet evening air, a genuine smile touching my lips. "And to the last time anyone ever underestimated a soldier."
I took a slow sip, set the glass down on the stone railing, and walked back inside my home, closing the heavy wooden door behind me.
