Vance wasn’t simply a man with bad habits anymore.
He was a liability in uniform.
I documented everything.
Screenshots.
Transaction logs.
IP records.
Copies of the forged power of attorney.
Everything duplicated and organized.
Then I connected my portable printer.
The pages came out one by one.
$45,000.
Forged authorization.
A paper trail running through my mother and directly to my sister’s husband.
I aligned the pages and slid them into the tactical folder I normally used for deployment briefings.
Appropriate.
Upstairs, they still thought this was about a bedroom.
About me being difficult.
It wasn’t.
This was evidence.
And I knew where evidence belonged.
I packed the laptop and went upstairs.
Before reaching the top, I smelled barbecue.
Then came laughter and clinking glasses.
I opened the door.
They were hosting a party in my backyard.
String lights.
Folding tables.
A full barbecue spread.
Officers everywhere.
Captains.
