In a near-future America ruled by fascism and genetic purity laws, Executive Order 14990 strips citizenship from "insufficiently American" residents. Jenny Nguyen, Vietnamese American, is exiled to her parents' homeland, where she helps fellow refugees while rebuilding her life. Charlotte Whitmore, a governor's wife who initially benefits from the regime, begins to crumble under her complicity. Huy Tran, who helped draft the order, finds himself betrayed by the system he championed. As their lives intersect across continents, Proof of Origin examines exile, complicity, and the true cost of survival in a world determined to erase you.
In a near-future America ruled by fascism and genetic purity laws, Executive Order 14990 strips citizenship from "insufficiently American" residents. Jenny Nguyen, Vietnamese American, is exiled to her parents' homeland, where she helps fellow refugees while rebuilding her life. Charlotte Whitmore, a governor's wife who initially benefits from the regime, begins to crumble under her complicity. Huy Tran, who helped draft the order, finds himself betrayed by the system he championed. As their lives intersect across continents, Proof of Origin examines exile, complicity, and the true cost of survival in a world determined to erase you.
March 3, 2026 — San Francisco, CA
Jenny’s fingers trembled as she turned up the volume. The presidential seal appeared on the television screen, a grim confirmation of what she already knew: tonight, everything was about to change.
“My fellow Americans," President Bradford began, his voice steady, measured. "Tonight, we face a critical moment in our nation's history, a moment that demands clarity, strength, and decisive action. For decades, our great country has been divided, our economy burdened, and our national security threatened by unchecked demographic shifts. It is with a solemn but necessary resolve, I announce the implementation of The American Stabilization Initiative — Executive Order 14990."
Jenny's heart raced as she listened to the unfolding nightmare. The room felt colder, her house suddenly a cage.
“Effective immediately," the President continued, "the Department of Homeland Security, in collaboration with the Bureau of Genetic Integrity, will launch a realignment program to reinforce our national identity.”
“All affected individuals will have forty-eight hours to comply before the transition process begins,” the President continued, his voice unwavering, like he hadn’t just started a countdown on millions of lives.
Two days. That was it. Two days to disappear or be disappeared. Her insides pitched sideways. The screen kept playing, the President’s face frozen in that same measured calm, as if this were just another policy rollout. Her mouth went dry. She gripped the table like it might vanish, too.
“Citizens falling below the 50% threshold of historical American lineage will be offered structured relocation abroad.”
“We knew this was coming,” he murmured. His voice was level, like he was reciting a grocery list. She hated how steady it sounded.
“Historical American lineage will be verified through genealogical records tracing ancestry to citizens documented before 1950.”
Jenny blinked. Pre-1950. That cut out nearly everyone she knew.
"This isn’t punishment," he assured. "This is protection. Compliance ensures order. Transition zones ensure safety."
"How magnanimous of him," Jenny muttered to the room. Kevin didn’t look up. Just loaded the last plate into the dishwasher, like the world wasn’t ending in real time. The camera zoomed out slightly, revealing two grim-faced advisors standing a few feet behind the President. Jenny knew "transition areas" meant modern euphemism for concentration camps.
"Similar measures have been taken throughout history in times of national emergency. We have precedent. We have the resolve to see it through. This is not a decision I have made lightly, but it is one I make with confidence in our nation's future. We will emerge stronger. We will emerge united. And we will restore the promise of America — for true Americans."
The speech droned on, but Jenny was already in motion to purchase flights. She'd seen the signs, the gradual shift in policy and public sentiment, the heated debates on news panels that grew increasingly one-sided. Yet, hope had kept her grounded, hope that reason would prevail. It hadn't.
Jenny knew she should have left months ago, but leaving felt like giving up on every protest, every petition, every vote she’d cast believing it mattered. It felt like admitting that the America she believed in had already died.
She glanced at her go bag, packed for the last year when the earliest rumors of an order like this had started to circulate. Clothes, essential documents, valuables, and a few personal items; that was all she could call her own now. A bitter relief washed over her; at least she could take more than a single backpack, unlike so many who hadn’t had the time or foresight.
Her house, her books; none of it mattered now. It would all belong to someone else soon.
Seats vanished mid-click. Alerts flashed: Canada, Europe, Australia — closed.
She exhaled sharply. “Honey, we need to leave.”
Kevin was already sealing the zippers on his bag, methodical and detached. The soft, steady rasp of the zipper filled the room like a metronome. Jenny hated how calm it sounded. He could afford to move without panic. His hands didn’t shake. Hers hadn’t stopped since the announcement.
Kevin glanced at the half-packed bag, his voice tight. “Where do we even go?”
Jenny’s gut churned at his unnervingly calm reaction. Internally, a spark of bitter irritation flared: of course he's fine, he's fucking white. She knew her initial reaction was harsher than warranted, yet it still managed to strike a raw nerve.
"Anywhere but here," Jenny said, fingers hammering the keyboard.
The airline portal stalled. Refreshed. Loaded half in Vietnamese. One route left. One.
To Vietnam.
Four tickets. That was all.
There were five of them.
Her thumb froze over the mousepad. Just for a second, she imagined it: taking the last seat for herself, letting her parents and Kevin fill the rest. Four tickets. No explanation. No guilt. At least not the kind that would stop her. It would be easier. Cleaner.
Her hand hovered.
I’m sorry, Em. The words rose like a breath but never left her mouth.
She couldn’t afford to say them.
But then the memories of Emily's voice surfaced, laughing, stubborn, impossibly certain, and the image shattered.
Jenny exhaled. Her fingers twitched.
Her thumb clicked. Her stomach didn’t. It knotted, sharp and immediate, even before her mind caught up.
The confirmation page stuttered, then loaded.
She reached for her phone and called her sister.
Emily picked up on the third ring, her voice rushed. “Hey. I’ve got three minutes until my next patient, can we — ”
“Emily.” Jenny’s voice was too calm. “Turn on the news.”
“What? Why — ”
“Executive Order 14990. It was just announced. They’re calling it the American Stabilization Initiative.”
There was a long pause on the line.
“They’re targeting anyone with less than fifty percent so-called ‘historical American lineage,’” Jenny said. “Calling it relocation, like it’s voluntary.”
“…Jesus,” Emily whispered.
“I got tickets. I managed four for me, Kevin, Mom and Dad.”
“Wait — what? Four? You didn’t call me first?”
“There wasn’t time. Flights were vanishing mid-click. I took what I could.” Jenny’s voice wavered. “I thought maybe you'd still be able to get one — waitlist, or — ”
“You left me out.”
The words landed like a blow. Jenny’s breath caught in her throat. Emily had once stood for hours outside the Capitol, rain soaking through her clothes, just to walk Jenny out after the arrest. She hadn’t spoken, only opened her coat like a shield. Her fingers curled around the phone, whitening at the knuckles. She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. The truth had already happened.
“I’m sorry.”
Jenny almost told her then. That Kevin had asked if Emily would come, but she’d clicked his name into the form without hesitation. That she’d told herself it was practical. A unit. A marriage. A legal tie. But all of it just sounded like excuses. And Emily didn’t need her excuses. She needed a seat.
Emily was quiet for several seconds. “At least Mom and Dad will be safe.”
“I’ll send you everything. Where we’re going. What to try next.”
“I’ll figure something out,” Emily said, clipped now. “Don’t worry about me.”
The call ended before Jenny could say I love you. She wasn’t sure if it would’ve helped.
The reality that she was about to become a refugee weighed heavily on her. Her parents were about to become refugees again. With dwindling options on her monitor, Jenny decided on the last resort, her parents’ homeland.
For a moment, she stared at the laptop screen, the words blurring.
Internment. Concentration camps. Words she’d read in history books. Now, they weren’t history. They were potentially her future.
As Jenny shut off the television, silencing the president’s voice mid-sentence, she stood there a moment longer, unsure what to do with the silence. Kevin stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, steady and warm. She let him hold her. Her body didn’t move; her mind was already cataloguing what she could carry and what she would have to leave behind. Two days. And already, she’d left too much behind.
The clock had started. And goodbye had never come.
In this near-future spec fic novel, a new executive order revokes American citizenship for those whose families immigrated in the last few generations, and gives them a few days to self-deport before facing arrest. It’s a timely novel, set in a realistic future. The story in M. N Lee’s Proof of Origin moves between a family rushing from the US and trying to establish a new life in a homeland the younger generation has barely visited, a white family who at first benefits from the husband’s role in removing immigrants, and an immigrant’s son who thinks he’ll be safe from the policies he’s helped to establish.
The problem with taking on such a heavy topic and starting with high drama is that readers don’t really have a chance to get to know the characters before the action starts. This affects the emotional drama in the beginning of the novel. For example, readers will still be moved by a story of random displaced people, but the scenes of Jenny and her family’s struggles to establish a new life in Vietnam become more moving and compelling as the characters are developed. By the end of the novel, the nuance and development is there.
In the story of Charlotte Whitmore, a politician’s wife, we hear familiar refrains from lawmakers about how they don’t hate immigrants, but Americans come first. The Whitmore family benefits personally and socially from the removal of the Nguyen family and others like them, and at first Charlotte accepts the headlines. Over time, of course, the overlap between white supremacy and patriarchy comes for her and her daughters, too.
In Huy Tran’s storyline, he says all the buzzwords about doing things correctly and following the rules, and for a while, his party loves having an immigrant as the face of these statements. Readers may guess what’s coming, but Huy doesn’t. This was the most moving storyline for me, I won’t spoil it for you, but, OMG, Huy. His deep belief in correct behavior really makes him feel like a tragic hero, again and again. The author develops this character’s background and personality so well that readers will care for him, even through his mistakes.
Proof of Origin is a timely novel where each storyline (maybe even each scene) highlights different aspects of racism, exclusion and immigration policy, and it's also a long-lasting novel that asks universal questions about the meaning of home, family, and safety.