“Get out.” She said it loudly enough for every relative at my birthday dinner to hear. No one defended me. No one even looked surprised.

Miller gave a short, condescending laugh, resting his gloved hand on the holster at his hip.

"Your mother holds a preliminary injunction signed by a Rhode Island probate judge three hours ago," Miller declared, pulling a folded paper from his pocket and holding it up. "This property is under immediate corporate receivership. You have five minutes to package your personal belongings and board our launch back to the mainland."

"A Rhode Island probate judge has zero legal jurisdiction over a private island registered under Maine Maritime Territory, Miller," I replied coldly. "As a corporate security consultant, you should know state lines don't apply to offshore maritime grants."

Miller's smile faded slightly. He flicked his eyes toward his lead guard. "Secure her. Find the vault access keys."

The two guards stepped toward the stairs.

Suddenly, the sky above the castle exploded in a blinding flash of white light.

The deafening, bone-rattling roar of two Sikorsky MH-60 Jayhawk helicopters descended directly over the castle roof, their heavy rotors whipping the rain into a hurricane-force spray across the courtyard windows.

Massive searchlights flooded the grand hall, illuminating Miller and his men in harsh, glaring clarity.

Through the shattered front doors, the deep, horn blast of a U.S. Coast Guard 110-foot Fast Response Cutter echoed across the cove.

"ATTENTION UNIDENTIFIED VESSEL AT RAVENWICK DOCK!" a booming voice echoed from a loudspeaker above the house. "THIS IS THE UNITED STATES COAST GUARD! DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND GET ON THE GROUND IMMEDIATELY! YOU ARE BREACHING A SECURED FEDERAL MARITIME ZONE!"

Miller froze. His face went completely white.

His guards looked around in utter shock, their flashlights trembling as tactical Coast Guard officers in full assault gear rappelled down ropes onto the front terrace, bursting through the doors with weapons raised.

"ON THE GROUND! NOW!" the tactical team screamed.

Miller dropped his paper, raising his hands instantly, sinking to his knees on the marble floor alongside his men. Within fifteen seconds, Miller’s entire "security team" was face-down on the ground, wrists bound in heavy steel handcuffs.

Director Sterling stepped through the broken doorway, wearing a dark navy foul-weather coat with federal gold insignia on the collar. She looked up at the balcony where I stood.

"Nice castle, Jenna," Sterling called up with a dry, professional smile.

I walked down the grand marble staircase, stepping over Miller's dropped injunction paper.

"Thanks, Director," I said. "The maintenance is a nightmare, but the security is improving."

Sterling looked down at Miller, nudging his fallen paper with the toe of her boot. "Private security executing out-of-state probate orders in a federal maritime zone. Your mother is getting desperate, Jenna."

"She isn't just desperate," I said, pulling the key to the vault from my pocket. "She knows her entire empire is built on stolen shares. Come down to the vault, Sterling. I have thirty years of forensic evidence waiting for you."