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.

By Thursday afternoon, the trap was fully laid.

Under the covert supervision of an NCIS tactical response team, Gwen returned to her catering company’s headquarters on the pretense of collecting her final paycheck and explaining to her manager why she had been detained overnight by base security.

I monitored the live audio and video feed from a secure mobile command van parked two blocks away from the industrial warehouse district.

Master Chief Daugherty stood beside me, monitoring the perimeter comms while Lieutenant Commander Marcus Vance managed the encryption decoders.

“Audio feed is live,” Marcus murmured, pointing to the monitor.

On the screen, Gwen walked into David Miller’s private office. She played her part with terrifyingly convincing realism—nervous, shaken, playing the victim of my supposed tyrannical authority.

“She locked me in a holding cell all night, David!” Gwen stammered on the audio feed, wringing her hands. “She wouldn't even listen to me! The feds are talking about indicting me for federal property destruction because of that stupid bag!”

Behind his heavy oak desk, David Miller leaned back, a smug, relieved smile spreading across his face. He clearly believed his operational asset had successfully executed her mission and taken the fall without implicating him.

“Relax, Gwen,” Miller chuckled smoothly, standing up to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Your sister brought this on herself. She’s a rigid, authoritarian micromanager who couldn't handle a little competition. Just sign this nondisclosure statement regarding your shift assignments yesterday, take your severance pay, and skip town for a few weeks until the heat blows over.”

On the monitor, Gwen looked down at the paper Miller handed her—a physical document explicitly linking his company to the illegal security breach on Pier Four.

She took a slow, steady breath. She didn't sign it immediately. Instead, she reached into her pocket, tapped her hidden NCIS transmitter, and spoke clearly into the room.

“I think I’d rather let my sister explain it to federal prosecutors herself, David.”

Instantly, the heavy oak door of Miller’s office flew open. Three heavily armed NCIS special agents poured into the room, shouting commands and forcing Miller face-down onto the carpet before he could even reach for his desk drawer.

“Federal agents! Don't move! Hands behind your back!”

Inside the mobile command van, Master Chief Daugherty let out a low whistle.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Daugherty muttered, glancing over at me with a respectful nod. “Looks like operational blood runs deeper than we thought, Commander.”

I watched the screen as Miller was hauled to his feet in handcuffs, his face pale with utter defeat.