“We are submitting authenticated records establishing Commander Mercer’s military status, the lawful sources of the disputed funds, and the ownership of the trust account. Certain supporting records require restricted review. We have obtained authorization for the court to examine them.”
“Does that authorization permit public disclosure?”
“Only of specified information.”
“Then we will proceed carefully.”
My father folded his arms.
“She’s been saying this for years. Secret work. Secret orders. Secret everything.”
Shaw finally turned toward him.
“Mr. Mercer, your daughter’s inability to discuss an assignment with you does not mean the assignment didn’t exist.”
Harold opened his mouth.
Judge Sloan interrupted.
“Captain, proceed.”
Shaw placed a document on the clerk’s table.
It carried the appropriate authentication and a clear statement identifying the records permitted for restricted judicial review.
The Inspector General representative confirmed the authorization.
Judge Sloan examined both sets of credentials, then reviewed the document with the court clerk.
For several minutes, the only sounds were the ventilation system and the faint clicking of a reporter’s camera.
I watched the judge’s expression.
She was cautious.
Skeptical.
As she should have been.
A uniform was not proof.
Neither was an official-looking case.
My father had built his argument around the idea that appearances could be manufactured.
I wanted the court to insist on authentication.
Real authentication.
Not reputation.
Not family testimony.
Not whether someone looked important enough to be believed.
Eventually, Judge Sloan gave a brief nod.
“The authentication and authorization are sufficient for the limited review requested. I will examine the protected material outside public view. The parties will be given access to the admissible portions, subject to the restrictions stated here.”
Pike glanced at my father.
For the first time, uncertainty passed between them.
The judge turned back to Shaw.
“Is there anything within the authorized public record that immediately addresses the claim of military impersonation?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Shaw withdrew a single certified document.
He handed it to the clerk.
The clerk passed it to Judge Sloan.
I watched her read the first line.
Her expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just a slight tightening around her eyes.
Then she reached for her glasses.
She adjusted them and read further.
The courtroom became very quiet.
My father shifted in his chair.
“What does it say?”
No one answered.
Judge Sloan turned the page.
