She looked up, her expression hardening instantly into a mask of pure coldness.

“So, the prodigal daughter returns to gloat,” Helen said, her voice dripping with quiet venom.

“I came to tell you that Michael is in military custody,” I said, standing near the door.

She flinched slightly, but her composure returned almost immediately.

“He was always weak,” she said, dismissively. “Like your father. He couldn’t handle the pressure.”

“He was weak because you made him that way,” I said. “You used him to cover your theft.”

“Theft?” Helen laughed, a dry, bitter sound. “I took what was mine. I built the family name while your father wasted his life on his little charities.”

“My father built this family with honor,” I said. “You spent ten years trying to erase him.”

“And look at you,” she said, gesturing to my uniform. “Playing soldier. You think that medal they are giving you tomorrow makes you his equal?”

I did not answer her.

“You are nothing but a disappointment, Emerson,” she whispered, leaning forward. “You always have been.”