“Explain the folder, Helen,” I said, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest.

She did not look at me.

She kept her gaze fixed on the mahogany table, her manicured fingers pressing harder into her leather handbag.

“It was for your own good,” she said.

“My own good?” I asked. “You told the probate court I was mentally incapacitated after my third deployment.”

“You were unstable,” she muttered. “You were always distant. You didn’t care about this family.”

Agent Vance opened his portfolio and slid a document across the table toward her.

“This is a signed statement from Dr. Alan Sterling,” Vance said. “The civilian psychiatrist you hired.”

Helen’s eyes widened slightly as she saw the signature on the bottom of the page.

“He has already cooperated with the federal prosecutor’s office,” Vance added. “He admitted he never conducted a formal evaluation of Lieutenant Colonel Rogers.”

The silence in the room was heavy.

I watched a bead of sweat roll down the side of my mother’s face, ruining her makeup.

“He was paid to sign the papers,” I said. “You used my medical leave to draft a narrative of neglect.”