“Grant Monroe, you are under arrest for conspiracy, grand larceny, and treason,” the marshal said.

A second deputy stepped forward with a pair of steel handcuffs.

“Allison, please,” Grant stammered, looking at me.

“Tell them this is a mistake,” he said.

“Tell them about the contracts we signed,” he pleaded.

“The contracts were forged, Grant,” I said.

“You signed your own name to the treason warrants when you cleared the offshore transfers,” I added.

The deputy grabbed Grant’s right wrist.

Grant pulled back, his foot slipping on the wet stone.

“No, wait!” Grant yelled.

The deputy was stronger.

He forced Grant’s arm behind his back and clicked the first cuff into place.

Grant let out a sharp, high-pitched gasp.

“Mother, do something,” Grant cried out.

Patricia looked at her son, her expression hardening into disgust.

“Be quiet, Grant,” she said.

“Our attorneys will have this resolved before the sun sets,” she added.

“Not this time, Mrs. Monroe,” General Vance said.

He stepped forward, his boots splashing in a shallow puddle.

“The Department of Defense has assumed control of all Monroe Holdings assets,” Vance said.