"Just don't make today about your career," Daniel murmured, adjusting his silk tie with an arrogant flick of his wrist. I stared at my brother. "I'm here to honor Grandpa. That's all I've ever cared about."

When the official ceremony ended, the grand hall transformed into a swarm of high-profile activity.

Reporters from major national news networks crowded around the stage, thrusting microphones toward me, asking about Operation Silent Shield, my service, and my future with the Army. Senior military leaders and state senators lined up waiting to shake my hand, leaning in to offer their profound respect.

My father and Daniel tried to push their way through the crowd of journalists, eager to get close to me now that the cameras were rolling.

"Maya! Maya, sweetie!" my father called out, forcing a large, proud smile as he tried to put his arm around my shoulders for a news photographer. "That's my girl! I always knew she had the Parker grit! Look at her, folks! That's my daughter!"

I stepped back smoothly, avoiding his touch.

The news photographer noticed the rejection, pausing with his camera raised.

"Dad," I said calmly, my voice loud enough for the nearby reporters to hear clearly. "Five minutes ago, you told me I was a disappointment who couldn't cut it in real business. You put me at Table Twelve so I wouldn't ruin your corporate photographs."

My father’s fake smile completely froze. Sweat beaded across his forehead as he caught the horrified looks on the faces of several board members and journalists standing nearby.

"Maya... please," my father whispered desperately, his voice cracking. "Not in front of the press..."

Daniel stepped forward, trying to intervene. "Maya, come on. Dad was just worried about the event. We're family. We should celebrate this together at Table One."

I looked at Daniel, then at his wife Ashley, who was standing behind him, clutching her stained dress, looking completely humiliated.

"I belong at Table Twelve, Daniel," I said evenly. "With the people who actually respect what the uniform stands for."

At that moment, the Chairman of the Board for Parker Global Logistics—a wealthy, distinguished man named Arthur Vance—stepped past my brother, ignoring him completely, and walked up to me.

"Staff Sergeant Parker," Mr. Vance said, extending a warm hand. "It is an absolute honor to meet you. My son served in the Marines. I know what that medal means."

"Thank you, Mr. Vance," I replied, shaking his hand firmly.

Mr. Vance turned his head toward my father and Daniel, his face darkening with intense disapproval.

"Richard," Mr. Vance said, his voice cold and sharp. "The board of directors called an emergency meeting during the intermission. We watched how you treated your daughter tonight. We watched how you tried to turn a national hero's honor into a cheap marketing stunt for your firm."

My father turned deathly pale. "Arthur... wait... let me explain—"

"There's nothing to explain," Mr. Vance interrupted sternly. "The board has voted unanimously to freeze the corporate restructuring plan. Daniel will not be taking over as CEO next month. In fact, we are initiating a full audit of the foundation's funds to ensure you haven't been mismanaging charitable assets."