“Your standing here is highly irregular.”

“I am acting as counsel for Mr. Vale, who is seeking whistleblower protection,” I replied.

Vance sneered, turning back to the gallery.

“We have witnesses who can speak to Ms. Mercer’s state of mind and her long-standing animosity toward the Whitaker family,” Vance said.

I turned around, expecting him to call one of the Colonel’s military aides.

Instead, Vance called my mother to the stand.

Mrs. Eleanor Mercer walked to the witness stand with her head held high.

She wore her pearls and her charcoal Chanel suit, the armor she used for charity galas and country club luncheons.

She took the oath, her voice clear and practiced.

“Mrs. Mercer, can you describe your daughter’s behavior over the last six months?” Vance asked.

“Grace has been highly unstable,” my mother said, looking directly at the judge.

She completely ignored me, her gaze fixed on the bench.

“She became obsessed with the Whitaker family after her department was restructured,” she continued.

The words felt like a physical blow to my chest.

“And did she express a desire to hurt the Colonel’s reputation?” Vance asked.