They carried short, black rifles.

In the center of the foyer, Ryan was on his knees.

His hands were zip-tied behind his back, and his expensive silk shirt was torn at the shoulder.

His face was pressed against the marble floor, his eyes wide with terror.

“Emily!” he screamed when he saw me. “Tell them! Tell them who I am!”

I stopped five feet away from him.

I looked down at the man who had kept me in a state of fear for three years.

He looked small.

He looked like a child throwing a tantrum on a cold floor.

“I know exactly who you are, Ryan,” I said.

An agent in a helmet stepped between us, his rifle pointed at the floor.

“Ma’am, please step back,” the agent said.

“She is with me, Son,” Ward said, stepping forward.

He held up a gold badge in a black leather wallet.

The agent looked at the badge, then looked at Ward’s face, and immediately lowered his weapon.

“Sir,” the agent said, saluting.

“Where is the father?” Ward asked.

The agent pointed toward the library.