My mother kicked the leg military surgeons rebuilt after a combat blast in front of fifty guests—she had no idea I’d already found seven companies using my forged signature.

“I found something.”

Rebecca was already reaching for her coat.

“What?”

Dad whispered, “Your mother doesn’t know I’m calling.”

I looked at Rebecca.

“What did you find?”

“A ledger.”

My pulse increased.

“Where?”

“My office.”

“I thought somebody searched your office.”

“They missed it.”

I headed toward the door.

“Don’t touch anything else.”

“Shayla.”

“What?”

“You need to know something before you come.”

The fear in his voice was worse than anything I had heard the previous night.

“Blue Crest wasn’t Chloe’s idea.”

I stopped.

“Whose was it?”

“Mine.”

The room seemed to tilt.

Rebecca watched my face.

Dad continued.

“Not the fraud. I swear. But I started the company.”

“Why?”

“To help veterans transition into private-sector procurement.”

“And then?”

“Your mother and Martin changed it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know everything.”

“You knew enough to hide a ledger.”

Silence.

“Come home.”

I nearly refused.

Then Dad said, “There’s another name in the ledger.”

“Whose?”

He hesitated.

“Someone from your old unit.”

Everything inside me went cold.

“Who?”

Before he could answer, I heard a door open on his end.

Mom’s voice.

“Richard? Who are you talking to?”

Dad whispered, “Come alone.”

The call disconnected.

I looked at Rebecca.

She shook her head.

“You are absolutely not going alone.”

“I know.”

Twenty minutes later, Pike met us two blocks from my parents’ home.

We arrived together.

The front door stood open.

No one answered.

“Dad?”

Silence.

Pike entered first.

Rebecca stayed behind him.

I followed.

The living room was empty.

Broken champagne glass had been cleaned.

My blood was gone.

The house looked as though nothing had happened.

Then we heard a thump upstairs.

We ran.

Dad’s office door was open.

My mother stood inside.

My father sat against the desk, blood running from his temple.

A metal cash box lay open on the floor.

Empty.

Mom stared at us.

Pike’s hand moved toward his weapon.

“Ma’am, step away from him.”

Mom lifted both hands.

“I found him like this.”

Dad looked up.

His eyes found mine.

“The ledger,” he whispered.

“What about it?”

“Gone.”

Pike scanned the room.

The French doors leading onto the balcony were open.

Curtains moved in the wind.

Someone had escaped.

I crouched beside Dad.

“Who was in the ledger?”

He grabbed my sleeve.

“Evan.”

I stopped breathing.

Rebecca frowned.

“Who is Evan?”

My father answered.

“Captain Evan Cole.”

I hadn’t heard that name in five years.

Not since Afghanistan.

Not since the blast.

Not since the Army told me Evan had died three days after the explosion that destroyed my leg.