Mom looked at me with tears in her eyes.

“Alexis.” Mom turned to me, tears in her eyes. “Fix this. You work for the government. Tell them this was a misunderstanding.”

“I can’t fix this, Mom,” I said quietly. “You sold federal property. That’s not a misunderstanding. That’s a crime.”

“We’re your parents.” Dad’s voice rose. “You owe us.”

“I owe you nothing,” I said, my voice still calm. “You’ve spent four years dismissing my career, mocking my choices, assuming you knew better than me about my own life. You sold my home without asking because you thought I was too incompetent to manage my own property. Now you’re facing consequences, and you want me to save you from them.”

“We didn’t know,” Mom repeated desperately.

“You didn’t ask,” I corrected. “You never asked what I actually do. You never asked why I needed that specific property. You never asked why it was empty most of the year. You assumed, and you acted on those assumptions, and now you’re learning that assumptions have consequences.”

Agent Walsh gestured toward the entrance.

“Mr. and Mrs. Peton, let’s go.”

As the agents escorted them out, Natalie faced me.

“You’re really just going to let them take our parents?”

“They’re not being arrested,” I said. “They’re being questioned. There’s a difference.”

“But you could stop this. You’re some big diplomatic official. Tell them it’s fine that Mom and Dad made a mistake.”

“It’s not fine,” I said. “And I can’t tell federal agents to ignore a violation of diplomatic security protocols. That’s not how any of this works.”

“So you’re choosing your job over your family,” Natalie said, her voice sharp with accusation.

“I’m choosing reality over your fantasy,” I said. “You’ve all spent years treating me like I’m the incompetent one, the one who doesn’t understand how the real world works. Now the real world is showing you that I understand it better than you do.”

Richard immediately got on his phone, probably calling an attorney.

Natalie cried.

I sat amid what remained of Christmas dinner and watched my parents’ Bentley follow three federal SUVs out of the driveway.

My phone buzzed.

Director Morrison.

Situation contained. Your parents are being questioned but not arrested yet. Depends on what the investigation reveals. How are you holding up?

I answered.

I’m fine. Thank you for the professional handling.

Another message arrived, this time from Agent Walsh.

Need your statement tomorrow morning. State Department headquarters. 9:00 a.m. Bring all documentation related to the property purchase and co-ownership arrangement.

I’ll be there, I responded.

Natalie came toward me.

Her tears were real, but so was the calculation in her approach.

“Alexis, please. For our parents. They made a mistake. Can’t you do something?”

“What would you like me to do?” I asked. “Lie to federal investigators? Claim this wasn’t a violation? Pretend that selling diplomatic property is no big deal?”

“I’d like you to remember that they’re family,” Natalie said.

“I’d like you to remember that for 4 years you’ve treated me like I’m stupid,” I said. “Like my career is a joke. Like my choices are wrong. Like I need you to manage my life because I’m too incompetent to do it myself.”

“We never said that,” Natalie protested.

“You said it constantly,” I corrected. “Every time you mocked my Honda. Every time you asked what I really do for work. Every time you dismissed my travel as gallivanting around. Every time you treated my absence as neglect instead of recognizing it as the demands of a serious career.”