We pulled into the gravel driveway of the family home just as two patrol cars arrived.

Their blue and red lights painted the white timber of the porch in rhythmic flashes.

The front door was slightly ajar, letting a sliver of yellow light spill onto the dark porch.

I drew my service weapon, holding it low and ready as I crossed the threshold.

The smell of stale whiskey and expensive perfume hung heavy in the foyer.

“I don’t care about your daughter, Elena!” Dorian’s voice roared from the study.

“Type the code in, or I will take this house and leave you with the debt!”

I rounded the corner into the study, the floorboards creaking under my boots.

Dorian was leaning over the mahogany desk, his hand gripping Elena’s shoulder.

Elena sat in the leather chair, her face pale and streaked with mascara.

Brielle stood in the corner, clutching a designer handbag to her chest, her eyes darting toward the window.

“Step away from her, Dorian,” I said, raising my weapon to center mass.

Dorian froze, slowly turning his head toward me.