My father pushed the door open and stepped inside, turning on the overhead fluorescent lights.

The room was small, smelling of ozone and damp carpet.

Monitors on the wall showed grainy black-and-white feeds of the rainy courtyard, the front gates, and the empty ballroom.

“Drop your weapon on the desk, Natalie,” Hayes ordered as he stepped into the room behind us. “Slowly. Two fingers on the grip.”

I hesitated, calculating the distance between us.

His weapon was aimed directly at Madison’s chest now.

I lowered my arm and placed my service pistol on the metal desk.

He stepped forward, swept it into his coat pocket, and backed away toward the door.

“Richard, get the rest of the paperwork from the safe,” Hayes said.

My father moved to a small wall safe behind the main desk, his fingers trembling as he spun the dial.

Madison slid down the wall, burying her face in her knees, sobbing quietly.

My mother stood near her, placing a hand on her shoulder, her eyes wide with terror.

I stood near the corner of the desk, my hip brushing against the side of the console.