Helen stepped back, her heels clicking against the marble tile.

“Michael, do something,” Helen hissed.

Michael looked from Helen to the NCIS agents, then to me.

He looked at the flashing lights outside.

He did not move.

“I am an officer of the United States Navy,” Michael stammered to Vance.

“There must be some mistake.”

“There is no mistake, Lieutenant,” a voice behind us said.

General Drummond stepped forward from the shadows of the ballroom entrance.

His dress uniform was immaculate, the stars on his shoulders catching the light.

“Your mother has been diverting your sister’s designated survivor funds into private accounts for the last ten years,” Drummond said.

“And we have reason to believe some of those funds cleared your personal accounts, Lieutenant.”

Michael’s face lost all its color.

He looked down at his own polished black shoes.

“I didn’t know,” Michael muttered.

“I didn’t ask where the money came from.”

“Then you are either complicit or incompetent,” Captain Hayes said, walking up beside Drummond.

Hayes’s limp was pronounced on the hard tile, but his presence was steady.

“Either way, you’re finished,” Hayes added.