“Caleb,” he repeated. For the first time in my thirty-one years, Robert sounded unsure of his footing.

Behind me, through the glass, I could see Mia kneeling on the carpet, helping Lily choose between room-service waffles or pancakes. Lily was oblivious to the war outside, singing an off-key song about being the “Flower Girl Champion of the Universe.”

It was a symphony of ordinary, spectacular noise.

My father cleared his throat, trying to regain his authority. “I saw the video.”

“I heard.”

He exhaled heavily through his nose. “It seems everybody has seen this video. The entire country is watching our family business.”