“You have no right to be in this house,” she added, glaring at the agents.

“We have a federal warrant, Patricia,” Vance said quietly. “Signed by a FISA court judge.”

“I want my lawyer,” she demanded.

Her eyes darted to Grant as we reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Grant, don’t say a word to them,” she warned.

“I haven’t said anything, Mother,” Grant said.

The heavy front door opened, letting in a gust of humid Georgia night air.

A tall man in a tailored charcoal suit walked into the foyer.

He carried a thick leather briefcase.

It was Richard Sterling, the chief counsel for Monroe Industries.

He had represented the family for thirty years.

Tonight, his tie was slightly loosened, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

“Richard,” Patricia said, taking a step toward him. “Thank God. Tell these people to leave.”

Sterling did not look at her immediately.

He looked at General Vance, then at me, and finally at the two agents standing behind Grant.

“Let me see the warrant,” Sterling said to the lead agent.

An agent handed him a thick packet of stapled papers.