At 3:15 A.M., I was stepping out of the gates at Fort Sterling when my cell phone vibrated. I nearly let it go to voicemail after a grueling sixteen-hour shift, but then my mother’s contact flashed on the screen.

The silence stretched, broken only by Miller’s groans.

"It's over, Mark," I called out. "The FBI has the ledger. They have the audio. They have the IP addresses of your offshore accounts. You have nowhere to run."

"I’m a decorated cop!" Mark screamed, the panic finally bleeding through his arrogance. "It’s my word against a crazy old woman and a disgruntled soldier!"

"Not anymore."

I tossed a flashbang grenade over the island.

The blinding white light and deafening BANG rocked the cabin. Before the echo faded, I vaulted over the counter. Mark was stumbling backward, clutching his eyes, his gun swinging wildly.

I closed the distance in two strides. I grabbed his gun hand, twisted his wrist until the bone popped, and drove my knee into his ribs. The Glock clattered to the floor.

Mark fell hard, gasping for air. I placed the muzzle of my sidearm directly between his eyes.

He blinked the blindness away, looking up at me. For the first time, he saw me not as a wife to be manipulated, but as a soldier who had defeated him.

"Go ahead," he spat blood onto the floor. "Do it."