MY SISTER WANTED TO HUMILIATE ME IN FRONT OF EVERYONE ON THE PIER, BUT THE MOMENT SHE LEARNED WHY EVERYONE WAS LISTENING TO ME, SHE REALIZED SHE HAD MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE.

The federal detention facility downtown smelled of industrial bleach, cold concrete, and stale coffee.

At 7:00 AM on Wednesday, I stood behind the one-way mirror of Interrogation Room 3. On the other side of the glass sat my sister.

Gwen looked utterly unrecognizable. The arrogant, triumphant smirk she had worn on the pier was completely gone. Her catering apron was discarded, and she was dressed in a standard orange jumpsuit that hung loosely on her frame. She sat with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, staring blankly at the metal table, trembling slightly as the heavy fluorescent lights hummed overhead.

The door to the observation room clicked open, and Special Agent Marcus Vance stepped inside, holding a thick manila folder.

“NCIS cyber and financial forensics just finished scrubbing the catering company’s server logs,” Marcus said, tossing the folder onto the metal counter. “You were right, Commander. This wasn't a spontaneous family tantrum.”

I tore my eyes away from the glass. “Talk to me.”

“Gwen’s boss—the regional manager of the catering firm—has ties to a private defense subcontracting shell company currently under federal indictment for industrial espionage,” Marcus explained, flipping open the file. “They needed eyes on your inspection route to steal the encrypted diagnostic algorithms for the pier’s sonar grid. When Gwen complained about you being assigned to lead the sector, their supervisor fed her ego, told her exactly when your convoy would arrive, and practically dared her to 'put you in your place' by getting rid of your bag.”

My jaw tightened. They hadn't just used Gwen to create a distraction; they had exploited her bitter, lifelong jealousy as a weapon against my command.

“Does she know?” I asked quietly, looking back through the mirror at my sister.

“Not yet,” Marcus replied. “She thinks she’s looking at ten years in a federal penitentiary just because she threw a temper tantrum and ruined a bag of government papers. She’s terrified.”

I straightened my uniform jacket, adjusting my collar with cold, precise movements.