Three months later, the federal courthouse in New York City was surrounded by a swarm of news vans and reporters.

I walked up the granite steps, flanked by my naval security detail, wearing my full dress whites.

I was not there to support my father. I was there because the federal prosecutor had subpoenaed me to deliver a victim impact statement regarding Arthur Vance’s attempt to use my military clearance to shield his fraudulent accounts.

I stepped into the packed courtroom and took my seat in the front row.

My father was sitting at the defense table, wearing a loose orange prison jumpsuit. He looked small, old, and completely broken.

When the judge called my name, I walked to the podium with perfect military posture.

I did not look at my father. I addressed the court.

"Your Honor, Arthur Vance built his entire life on the illusion of superiority," I stated clearly, my voice echoing through the silent room.

"He believed that wealth and status placed him above the law, and he believed that anyone who did not serve his ego was expendable."

"He attempted to compromise the integrity of the United States Navy to save himself. He showed no remorse, only anger that he was caught."

I looked directly at the judge.

"I ask the court to impose the maximum sentence. Not out of malice, but because men like him must learn that true authority comes from integrity, not from a bank account."

The judge nodded respectfully.

"Thank you, Admiral Hart."

Thirty minutes later, the judge slammed his gavel.

Arthur Vance was sentenced to twelve years in a federal penitentiary, with no possibility of early parole.

As the bailiffs moved in to handcuff him, my father finally turned around and looked at me.

His eyes were filled with tears, a pathetic, desperate plea for mercy that he had never once offered to me.

"Evelyn, please!" he choked out as they dragged him away. "I am your father!"

I stood up, adjusting my uniform jacket.

"I do not have a father," I said quietly, though he could no longer hear me.

I walked out of the courtroom and into the bright sunlight of the city.

Nathan was waiting for me by the armored SUV, dressed in a sharp civilian suit.

He didn't ask how it went. He simply opened the door for me, placed a warm, supportive hand on the small of my back, and helped me into the car.

The past was officially dead.