The heat off the asphalt at Fort Cavazos tasted like dust and JP-8 fuel.

I adjusted the brim of my patrol cap, squinting against the harsh Texas sun.

My uniform felt heavy and stiff against my skin.

In my cargo pocket, my phone buzzed with an aggressive, continuous vibration.

I pulled it out and saw Dorian’s name flashing on the screen.

I walked toward the shadow of a parked transport truck to escape the glare of the noon sun.

“Maren,” Dorian said the moment I swiped to answer.

His voice had that familiar, unearned confidence that always made my posture stiffen.

“Dorian,” I said. “I’m on duty.”

“This will only take a minute,” he said. “I’m calling to let you know we cleared out the cabin in New Mexico.”

“The listing went live this morning, and we already have a cash offer.”

My chest tightened, the hot desert air suddenly hard to breathe.

“That cabin belonged to my father,” I said. “It was never part of the estate you and my mother took over.”

“The papers we have say otherwise,” Dorian replied, his tone smooth and entirely dismissive.

“Your mother signed the release hours ago. Brielle found a buyer who wants the acreage for a resort.”

“Brielle doesn’t even know where New Mexico is,” I said.

“She knows the value of the commission,” Dorian said, a sharp edge entering his voice.

“Don’t make this difficult, Maren. We need the liquidity, and your mother agreed it’s for the best.”

He hung up before I could utter another word.

I stood in the red dust, staring at the black screen of my phone.

My hands were shaking slightly, a mix of heat and cold fury.

Dorian had spent the last five years chipping away at my father’s legacy, piece by piece.

My mother simply watched, holding Brielle’s hand while Dorian sold off everything my father had worked for.

I tapped the contact list and dialed Mr. Voss.

He had been my father’s attorney and closest confidant for thirty years.

“Maren,” Voss answered on the second ring, his voice calm and gravelly. “I was just about to call you.”