MY FATHER POINTED AT MY NAVY UNIFORM AND THREW ME OUT OF THE MEDITERRANEAN VILLA I HAD PAID FOR WITH TWELVE YEARS OF DEPLOYMENTS, HAZARD PAY, AND SACRIFICE, THEN TOLD ME TO “GO BACK TO YOUR BASE” BECAUSE THE HOUSE NOW BELONGED TO MY SISTER’S FAMILY—BUT INSTEAD OF CRYING, I SMILED, NODDED, AND WALKED AWAY WHILE THEY CELEBRATED THEIR NEW HOME. WHAT THEY DIDN’T KNOW WAS THAT CAMERAS HAD JUST RECORDED THEIR FORGED PROPERTY TRANSFER.

I stood on the edge of the stone terrace in my comfortable civilian clothing, looking out over the churning whitecaps of the ocean below. The wind was cool and crisp, carrying the sharp, clean scent of salt and pine.

A sleek black federal sedan pulled up the long driveway—not with flashing lights or marshals this time, but carrying Marcus Vance for a casual weekend review of the final title deeds and trust dissolutions.

Marcus stepped out of the car, carrying a leather briefcase, and walked up the stone steps with a relaxed grin.

“Morning, Commander,” Marcus said, tossing a manila envelope onto the outdoor table. “All property tax adjustments have been settled, and the county assessor has formally restored your sole, unencumbered ownership rights. The case file is officially closed on our end.”

“Thank you, Marcus,” I said, handing him a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “How are things looking for the upcoming trial?”

“Open-and-shut,” Marcus chuckled, leaning against the stone balustrade. “The prosecutors have them dead to rights on wire fraud, forgery, and elder financial exploitation. Your father is already trying to pin everything on Grant in exchange for a lighter sentence, which means their defense is imploding from the inside out.”

“Let them tear each other apart,” I replied evenly, looking out toward the horizon where a lone naval cutter cut through the distant blue waves.

Marcus nodded, raising his coffee cup in a quiet toast. “To clear titles and unbreakable foundations.”