I came home after five years and my sister pointed at my shoulder and asked if that was my rank. It was a unit patch.

The Jefferson County Courthouse sat against the backdrop of the red rocks, its modern glass facade reflecting the morning sun. Snow dusted the manicured lawn as I parked my rental sedan in the visitor lot.

I wore my Class A service dress uniform—crisp, pristine, every ribbon and badge measured precisely down to the millimeter. If my family wanted to treat my service like a joke, I was going to make sure the state of Colorado saw exactly who they were dealing with.

Marcus Vance was waiting for me near the security checkpoint, leaning casually on a carved wooden cane. Despite his age, his eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses were sharp, alert, and full of fight.

"Captain Sterling," Marcus said, giving me a soft, respectful nod. "You look ready for battle."

"I am," I said, shaking his hand. "Where do we start?"

"Probate Court, Division 4. Judge Sarah Higgins," Marcus said as we cleared security. "Higgins doesn't tolerate nonsense, especially from local real estate developers who think they own the county."

As we walked down the marble hallway on the third floor, I spotted them.

My father was standing outside Courtroom 302, talking animatedly with Mr. Henderson, the attorney who had fled the house the night before. My mother sat on a wooden bench nearby, nervously checking her lipstick in a compact mirror. Tiffany and Brad were there too; Brad looked uncomfortable in a stiff suit, while Tiffany tapped her designer heel rapidly against the floor.

When my father caught sight of me walking down the hall beside Marcus Vance, his posture stiffened instantly. His face went pale.

"Marcus?" Richard gasped, taking a step toward us. "What are you doing here? You don't represent the estate anymore."

"I don't represent the estate, Richard," Marcus said smoothly, leaning on his cane. "I represent the primary beneficiary. Which means wherever you go with those forged transfer deeds, I go."

Henderson pulled Richard back by the elbow, whispering frantically in his ear. "Richard, stop talking. Right now."

"Sloane," my mother said, standing up from the bench, her voice dropping into that sweet, manipulative tone she always used when she wanted to smooth things over. "Darling, please. This is a family matter. We can resolve this at home. We don't need lawyers and courtrooms."

"We tried resolving it at home, Mom," I said, stopping three feet away from her. "You called the police on me."

"Tiffany called the police!" Evelyn snapped, instantly throwing my sister under the bus. "She was panicked! She thought you were stealing!"

"I was photographing proof of fraud," I said coldly.

Tiffany stepped forward, her arms crossed tight over her coat. "It’s not fraud! Grandma wanted me to have the Bear Creek house! Brad and I are getting married! What do you even need a house for? You're always off in the military doing... whatever it is you do!"

"What I do," I said, looking her dead in the eye, "is serve this country. While you spent five years figuring out how to steal land that doesn't belong to you."