She looked at the documents on the table, then at Agent Vance.

“The money was meant to support the family legacy. Michael is the one carrying the name forward.”

“By stealing my service record?” I asked.

“You don’t need a legacy, Emerson,” she said, her voice dropping to a cold whisper. “You’re a Marine. You have your dirt and your tents. You don’t belong in our world.”

Agent Vance tapped his pen against the metal table.

“We have the bank manager from Richmond on the phone, Mrs. Rogers.”

He pointed to a black conference phone in the center of the table.

“They’ve already confirmed the signature on the authorization form does not match the digitized signature on Colonel Rogers’ military ID.”

Helen’s hand began to tremble slightly against her purse.

“I did what had to be done to preserve our standing,” she said.

“You committed federal fraud,” Drummond said.

The room grew very cold.

The only sound was the steady hum of the fluorescent light overhead.

Helen looked at the stack of papers, then at her son, who refused to meet her eye.