After seven months away with the Marines, I came home two days early to surprise my wife.

I didn't slow my stride.

The heavy enforcer beside Vance saw me coming and stepped forward, his shoulders rolling beneath an expensive leather jacket, positioning himself to block the doorway to Sophia’s room. He was six-foot-three, built like a brick warehouse, with the flattened nose of a bare-knuckle brawler.

"Back off, jarhead," the enforcer grunted, raising two open hands to shove me back.

Big mistake.

I didn't stop to exchange words. The moment his fingers reached for my chest, I slapped his left wrist aside, stepped inside his guard, and drove a vicious palm strike straight into his sternum. The impact knocked the wind out of his lungs with an explosive gasp. Before he could recover, I grabbed his collar, swept his front ankle, and slammed him hard into the vinyl flooring.

I pressed my combat boot onto his throat, pinning him to the floor. The click of my Sig Sauer sliding from my waistband made the entire hallway freeze in terror.

"Security!" Richard screamed, backing against the wall like a terrified animal. "He’s armed! Shoot him!"

The two hospital security guards drew their tasers, their hands trembling violently. "Sir! Holster the weapon! Holster it now!"

"Doctor Bradley," I said, my voice ice-cold, keeping my gun pointed downward at the floor between Vance’s feet. "Does this hospital recognize the legal medical proxy of an active-duty spouse over a father?"

"Yes!" Bradley shouted, stepping between me and the taser-wielding guards. "Federal military dependency law and state marital law supercede parental rights completely! Mr. Walker is the only person on earth who can sign an order of transfer!"

I shifted my gaze to Julian Vance.

Vance hadn't moved an inch. He hadn't flinched when his muscle hit the floor. His hands remained casually draped over the silver head of his walking cane.

"Very impressive, Sergeant Walker," Vance said, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. "The taxpayers certainly got their money’s worth out of your combat training. But this isn't a sandbox in the Middle East. You don't solve problems here with high-velocity lead."

"You don't solve your debt problems by fracturing thirty-one of my wife’s bones, Vance," I whispered.

A shadow passed over Vance’s pale face. A flicker of real, dangerous fury behind his aristocratic mask.

"Be very careful what accusations you make in public," Vance said softly. "Your wife was the victim of a tragic mugging. Her loving father simply wishes to give her the best private care money can buy. That is why we are here."

"She’s not leaving this hospital," I said. "And if you or your dogs take one step inside that ICU room, I won't call the police. I will consider you an active enemy combatant on sovereign American soil, and I will eliminate the threat. Try me."

Before Vance could respond, the heavy stairwell doors banged open.

Marcus Cole walked through, flanked by two barrel-chested men wearing matching black tactical jackets and sidearms in drop-leg holsters. Marcus looked at the enforcer on the floor, glanced at Vance, and whistled softly.

"Looks like the party started without us, Ethan," Marcus said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Hospital administration downstairs just revoked visitor access for Mr. Vance and Mr. Carter. It seems their emergency court order had a forged clerk stamp. Metro PD is ten minutes out to verify the fraud."

Richard gasped, his hands clawing at Vance’s coat sleeve. "Julian... you said the judge signed it! You said—"

"Shut up, you idiot," Vance snapped, ripping his sleeve away from Richard’s grasp.

Vance looked at me, his smile returning, cold as winter frost. "You’ve bought yourself some time, Sergeant. A few hours. Maybe a couple of days. But ventilators fail. IV bags get contaminated. Roads between homes and hospitals have accidents every single day. You cannot watch her twenty-four hours a day."

"I don't need twenty-four hours to bury you, Vance," I said. "I have the flash drive."

The effect was instantaneous.

Vance’s knuckles tightened on his cane until the wood groaned. The aristocratic composure shattered for half a heartbeat, revealing the rabid dog beneath.

"You have nothing," Vance whispered.

"Try me," I repeated. "Check your encrypted servers in Grand Cayman. See who’s been pulling your ledger backups."

It was a bluff—I hadn't cracked the drive yet—but Vance didn't know that. His gaze flicked to Richard with pure, murderous hatred.

"Get up, Carl," Vance hissed to his groaning enforcer on the floor.

Carl scrambled to his feet, holding his bruised throat, glaring at me with raw homicide in his eyes.

Vance turned without another word and walked toward the elevators, his enforcer trailing behind like a beaten cur. Richard hesitated, looking between me and the elevator doors, his face a portrait of pathetic, spineless panic.

"Ethan... please," Richard begged, taking a step toward me. "You don't understand the people I owe money to. If I didn't cooperate, they were going to kill all of us!"

"You sold your daughter, Richard," I said, the disgust thick in my throat. "Get out of my sight before I forget you share her blood."

Richard swallowed hard, turned on his heel, and ran after Vance.

Marcus walked up, resting a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Nice entrance. What’s the play now?"

"We lock this floor down," I said, looking through the glass window at Sophia. "Marcus, your boys guard this door. Nobody comes in except Doctor Bradley and Nurse Clara. If a priest or a governor tries to enter, shoot them in the kneecaps."

"Done," Marcus said. "Where are you going?"