The Yale quad was still cheering my sister’s graduation when a Black Hawk dropped out of the sky and detonated the peace. Confetti turned into shrapnel. My mother’s smile froze mid-insult—“useless,” she’d just called me—right as a uniformed officer stepped out, scanned the crowd, and saluted me. “General Morgan,” he barked, “the Department needs you—now.” And that’s when I realized… someone in my family had been using my name.
: “She’ll be the one supporting us when we’re old,” he said loudly, basking in the approval around him. Then, like an afterthought he wanted to sting: “Wyatt, your future…
