I wore my Army Service Uniform, the dark blue wool crisp and clean.

The silver eagles of a Colonel glinted on my shoulders.

My ribbons were pinned precisely above my left pocket.

Every detail was correct.

This uniform was my shield, but today it was also a message.

I represented something larger than the Prescott family’s money.

I represented the law, and I represented my daughter.

Emily was waiting for me in the living room.

She wore a simple dark gray suit.

Her hair was pulled back, her face clear and calm.

“You look beautiful, Em,” I said.

“I feel ready, Mom,” she said.

We rode to the federal courthouse in Charlotte in the back of a military transport vehicle.

My driver, Sergeant Miller, kept his eyes on the road.

The streets outside the courthouse were crowded with reporters and television cameras.

When the doors of the vehicle opened, the flashes of cameras started immediately.

I walked close to Emily, my arm guiding her through the crowd.

The federal marshals cleared a path for us through the heavy double doors of the building.