“My client is inside.”

“He is unarmed.”

“Where is his staff?” the agent asked.

“They have left,” the lawyer said.

“Mrs. Richards—the second Mrs. Richards—has frozen the corporate accounts.”

“There is no one left to pay them.”

I opened my door and stepped out onto the wet gravel.

The air smelled of damp earth and eucalyptus.

“Colonel, stay behind the vehicle,” the agent commanded.

I ignored him and walked toward the lawyer.

“Where is my mother, Eleanor?” I asked.

The lawyer looked at my uniform, his eyes lingering on the silver colonel’s eagles on my shoulders.

“She is inside with him,” he said.

“She refused to leave.”

I walked past him, my boots clicking against the wet pavement of the driveway.

The two federal agents followed closely behind me, their hands resting on their sidearms.

The massive double doors of the mansion were unlocked.

I pushed them open, stepping into the grand foyer.

The house was silent, devoid of the usual staff that kept the marble floors polished and the chandeliers glowing.

The high ceilings made every footstep echo like a gunshot.