The second NCIS agent stepped closer to Helen, his hand resting near his sidearm.

“Mrs. Rogers, we need you to accompany us to the command administration building,” he said.

Helen looked at the agent, then at the crowded ballroom where dozens of officers were now watching.

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her leather handbag.

“I am going to my car,” Helen said. “My lawyer will contact you.”

She turned toward the double doors leading to the parking lot.

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am,” Agent Vance said.

Outside the glass doors, the headlights of two base security cruisers cut through the gray afternoon rain.

The blue and red lights began to flash against the wet concrete of the courtyard.

Helen froze, her hand hovering near the brass handle of the exit door.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration sharp against my hip.

I pulled it out and looked at the screen.

It was an alert from the Navy Federal credit monitoring service.

A high-value transfer request on my father’s dormant estate account had just been flagged as fraudulent.