My family mocked my military uniform at my grandfather’s funeral, right before a Pentagon official saluted me and revealed his final warning.

The panic inside the grand salon reached a fever pitch. Julian scrambled behind his father, his hands shaking so violently he could barely stand.

"Dad... what are you doing?" Julian whimpered, staring at the masked contractors outside the rain-slicked glass. "Who are those men? You said you had regular security from the firm!"

"Shut up, Julian!" Arthur barked without looking at his son. "You wanted the lifestyle, didn't you? You wanted the yachts, the private jets, the penthouses in Manhattan? You think that money comes from government contracts with ten percent profit margins? Apex pays forty times the market rate for trauma bio-tech!"

Arthur turned his crazed, bloodshot eyes onto me. The six armed contractors stepped through the terrace doors, their weapons held at low-ready, their tactical boots tracking water across the antique rugs. They weren't American soldiers. They were private operators—Apex Syndicate muscle that Arthur had smuggled onto the grounds under the cover of the funeral security detail.

"You were always so self-righteous, Clarissa," Arthur sneered, stepping behind two of the armed mercenaries. "Just like the old man. Always talking about duty, honor, oaths. Do you know what honor buys you in this world? A pine box in Arlington and a folded flag."

"And what does treason buy you, Arthur?" I asked, keeping my hands resting loosely at my sides, my weight balanced on the balls of my feet. My tactical training was cataloging every detail: six operators, suppressed 9mm submachine guns, standard Kevlar vests, poor spacing between the two nearest the fireplace. "A life in ADX Florence? Or a summary execution under military tribunal?"

"Neither," Arthur said coldly. "Because after today, the story will be very simple. A tragic gas explosion at the Vance estate during the post-funeral reception. A faulty furnace line. The entire family, along with a few unfortunate board members, perished in the fire. Vance Industries assets will be liquidated through Apex holding companies, and Julian and I will be mourning on a private island in a country that doesn't have an extradition treaty with the United States."

Julian’s face went chalk-white. "Wait... Dad, you're going to burn the house down with everyone inside?!"

"There are no witnesses, Julian!" Arthur shouted, his sanity fraying completely. "It's the only way we survive this!"

I glanced at the windows. Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets, obscuring the perimeter. But I knew General Holloway. Marcus Holloway had served two combat tours with my grandfather in the Gulf, and he had commanded the division where I earned my first Silver Star. When a three-star general tells you he stands ready at your command, he doesn't leave the AO just because you walked into a study.

"You made one catastrophic tactical error, Arthur," I said softly.

Arthur laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Really? What error is that, Colonel? You're unarmed, surrounded by six tier-one foreign mercenaries, and cut off from your military friends."

"I am never cut off," I replied.