My stepmother smashed a chair across my arm at my own Purple Heart ceremony, breaking the bone right as I was carrying a veteran up to the stage.

The Federal District Court in Alexandria was packed to capacity for the preliminary hearing of *United States v. Linda Vance*.

The defense table was occupied by a court-appointed public defender; the high-priced private attorneys Linda had contacted had abruptly declined to represent her once the full scope of the federal charges became public.

The side door opened, and Linda was led into the courtroom by two US Marshals.

The transformation was shocking. The polished, imperious society matriarch who had ruled our household with terror was gone. She was dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit, her bleached hair greasy and uncombed, her wrists shackled to a chain around her waist. She walked with a hunched, shuffling gait, the iron weight of her crimes dragging her down.

I sat in the front row of the gallery, flanked by General Hayes and five officers from my combat unit, all of us in full service dress.

When Linda looked over and saw me sitting tall, ribbons pinned across my chest, she bared her teeth in a sudden, feral snarl. "Traitor!" she hissed under her breath before the marshal jerked the chain, forcing her into her seat.

"Order in the court," the bailiff intoned as Judge Evelyn Martinez took the bench.

The assistant US attorney, Major Marcus Vance (no relation to Arthur, but a brilliant military prosecutor seconded to the DOJ), stepped to the podium.

"Your Honor, the government moves for denial of bail. The defendant stands charged with aggravated assault on an active-duty military officer, destruction of government property, wire fraud exceeding two million dollars, and interstate conspiracy to commit identity theft. Furthermore, the violent nature of the attack—perpetrated publicly against an officer during an official ceremony—demonstrates an extreme lack of impulse control and a clear danger to the community."

The public defender stood up half-heartedly. "Your Honor, Mrs. Vance is an established resident with no prior violent criminal record. We request home confinement with electronic monitoring—"

"Denied," Judge Martinez interrupted, not even looking up from the case file. "The evidence presented in the grand jury packet—including high-definition video of the defendant wielding a heavy metal implement against an unsuspecting officer—is incontrovertible. Given the severity of the financial charges and the risk of flight to offshore assets, the defendant will remain remanded in federal custody pending trial."

The gavel slammed down with the force of an executioner's axe.

*Bang.*

Linda shrieked, struggling against her chains as the marshals moved to haul her away. "You can't do this to me! I am Linda Vance! I have rights! Arthur! Tell them!"

She scanned the gallery frantically, looking for her husband. But the gallery seats behind her were completely empty. Arthur hadn't come. Julian hadn't come. She was utterly, irrevocably alone.

As she was dragged past our row, her wild eyes locked onto mine. I met her gaze with an impassive, steady stare.

"See you at trial, Linda," I whispered.