The first deputy, a young man with a shaved head and a silver name tag that read *Garrison*, stepped inside.

“Colonel Hart?” he asked, his hand resting near his holster. “We received a complaint of trespassing and harassment.”

“I am leaving,” I said, keeping my hands visible and away from my sides.

“You are indeed,” Margaret said, stepping forward. “But you are also going to face the consequences of your overreach.”

She gestured to the deputy, who stood aside to let me pass, though his eyes remained fixed on my face.

“Senator Crane called the Secretary of the Army an hour ago,” Margaret said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper as I neared her.

“I know Thomas Crane,” I said. “He is on the Senate Armed Services Committee.”

“Then you know he has the power to dismantle your career with a single memo,” she replied.

I walked past her, my boots clicking against the marble, and stepped out onto the wet concrete of the porch.

The blue and red lights painted the white columns of the estate in rhythmic flashes of color.