Dad inhaled sharply. “No? After everything I’ve done for you?”
Memories flickered, bitter and immediate. Birthdays forgotten. Deployments without care packages. Money wired home when he lost his job.
“Dad,” I said softly, “don’t call me again unless it’s to apologize.”
I hung up.
That night, Walt drove by and told me my gate camera caught two people at the entrance late the previous night.
“Your dad and your brother,” he said evenly. “They didn’t enter, but they were there.”
“What were they doing?” I asked, throat tight.
“Could’ve been looking,” he said. “Could’ve been planning. Make sure your locks are good.”
“They are,” I whispered.
The next morning, I woke before dawn to motion alerts.
When I opened the camera feed, my breath caught.
Headlights. Multiple. At my gate.
I threw on boots and a jacket and looked out the window. A van. Shapes moving. A flashlight beam. People clustered at the entrance.
I zoomed in.
Dad. Evan. Linda. A man with a clipboard. A realtor.
And another man kneeling at the keypad with a tool bag.
A locksmith.
They weren’t here to talk.
They were here to take.
My hands shook as I called Walt.
He answered immediately. “Hensley.”
“Walt, it’s Olivia,” I whispered. “They’re here. My family. They brought a realtor and a locksmith.”
A beat of silence, then his voice turned sharper. “Stay inside. Do not confront them alone. I’m on my way.”
I called Rachel Monroe next.
Captain Monroe. My friend. My mentor. A JAG officer who’d taught me the difference between fear and strategy.
She picked up on the first ring. “Olivia.”
“They’re at my gate,” I said, voice tight. “Dad, Evan, Linda. Realtor. Locksmith. They’re trying to get in.”
“Breathe,” she said calmly. “Record everything. Do not open anything. Sheriff
