“Apologies, Mr. Sterling,” my father stammered. “Just a little… family discipline. She can be difficult. Please, sit. The filet mignon is coming out.”
“Discipline?” Mr. Sterling repeated. The word rolled off his tongue like a curse.
He stepped away from the table and walked to the center of the dance floor. He took the wireless microphone from the frozen wedding singer’s hand.
My mother leaned over to Jessica, whispering loudly enough for the front row to hear. “Oh, look! He’s going to give a toast. He wants to save the mood. He loves us. Smile, Jessica!”
Jessica beamed, tilting her chin up, ready to receive praise.
Mr. Sterling didn’t look at the bride. He didn’t look at the groom. He kept his eyes locked on my father.
“I have spent thirty years in the Department of Defense,” Sterling said, his voice amplified by the speakers, filling every corner of the room. “I have walked through the ashes of war zones. I have seen men throw themselves on grenades to save their brothers. I have seen true power. And I have seen cowards hide behind titles.”
