It was moving fast up the winding driveway toward the main house.

“Are you expecting someone, Richard?” I asked.

My father smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

“The Colonel always likes to ensure his orders are carried out personally,” he said.

The headlights swept across the glass of the office window, blinding us for a fraction of a second.

The front door of the estate groaned as it was pushed open downstairs.

I stood frozen, the gun still pointed at my father, as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the foyer below.

The wood of the floorboards groaned outside the door.

I did not lower the Beretta.

“Madison,” I said, keeping my eyes locked on my father. “Get behind the desk. Now.”

She scrambled backward, her knees scraping against the hard oak floor.

The rain lashed violently against the windowpane behind us, a steady, deafening roar.

My father did not flinch.

He stood with his hands casually in his pockets, his posture relaxed and confident.

“You always were too stubborn for your own military career, Natalie,” he said.

“Be quiet,” I said.