The agents dragged Annetta down the dim service corridor toward the main hall. Her shoulder ached from where they gripped her, but she kept her face blank.

As they rounded the corner, a woman stepped out of the shadows, carrying a plastic bin overflowing with loose files.

It was Brenda, Annetta's personal assistant.

Brenda took one look at Annetta's bleeding hand and the assault rifles pressed against her back. She let out a sharp gasp. The plastic bin slipped from her hands. Hundreds of papers fluttered to the floor like dead leaves.

"Back up! Hands on the wall!" the agent barked, swinging his rifle toward Brenda.

Brenda turned white. She threw her hands up and pressed her face against the floral wallpaper, shaking uncontrollably.

Annetta's eyes darted to the scattered files. Hidden among the papers, spilled from a broken envelope, were four solid gold Angus coins. Unregistered hard currency.

Annetta let her knees buckle. She collapsed into the pile of papers, letting out a pained groan.

As her hands hit the floor, she swept the four heavy gold coins into her palm. The cold metal pressed into her skin, grounding her.

"Get up!" The agent grabbed Annetta by the collar of her wet shirt and hauled her to her feet.

As she was pulled upward, Annetta spun slightly. She brushed against Brenda's side and shoved the gold coins deep into the wide pocket of Brenda's wool trench coat.

Brenda felt the heavy weight hit her pocket. Her eyes went wide. She looked at Annetta.

Annetta shot her a look so sharp and terrifying that Brenda instantly swallowed her gasp.

"Please," Annetta begged the agent, forcing her voice to tremble. "She's just an intern. She doesn't know anything about the accounts. Let her go."

The lead agent pressed his earpiece, verifying Brenda's ID badge.

"She's a contractor. Not on the seizure list," the voice on the radio confirmed.

The agent waved his hand in disgust. "Get the hell out of here. And leave the papers."

Brenda nodded frantically. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she turned and ran toward the side exit, her heels clicking erratically on the hardwood.

"Brenda!" Annetta shouted after her. "Tell my driver not to forget to pick up my blue cashmere coat from the dry cleaners! The one with the heavy lining!"

The agent laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "You think you're going to need a coat where you're going, princess?"

He didn't stop the message.

Outside, Brenda burst through the side door into the freezing rain. She bypassed the main gates swarming with police and sprinted toward the staff lockers hidden near the rear service exit. She found Annetta's designated locker. Brenda remembered the strange request from months ago to leave a specific blue coat there. She ripped the door open and plunged her hands into the deep pockets of the heavy cashmere. Her fingers brushed against a small, heavy metal drive. A cold wallet.

Brenda shoved it into her bra. She scaled the ivy-covered brick wall in the camera's blind spot and dropped into the dark woods, vanishing into the night.

Back inside, Annetta felt a fraction of the tension leave her shoulders. The external supply line was secure. Brenda would use the crypto to buy the extreme-weather tents and chemical precursors they needed.

The agents shoved Annetta through the massive double doors into the front hall.

The blinding light of the crystal chandeliers burned her eyes. The room was packed with federal agents and heavily armed private security contractors. The air smelled of wet wool, fear, and expensive cigar smoke.

Standing by the massive marble fireplace was Issac Rocha.

He took a slow drag from his cigar and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. A smug, victorious smile stretched across his face. He looked at Annetta, his eyes slowly raking over her wet, clinging clothes and bleeding hands. His gaze was heavy with conquest and malicious lust.

Annetta stepped in front of Clara, shielding her daughter. She straightened her spine, locking eyes with Issac. Her stare was absolute ice.

On the velvet sofa to her right, Eleanor Crane, the elderly matriarch of the family, lay unconscious. Paramedics were trying to administer oxygen, but a private security guard was blocking their medical bags.

Annetta's blood boiled.

"She needs a hospital, Issac," Annetta snapped, her voice echoing in the silent room. "You are killing her."

Issac tapped his cigar over the marble hearth. "Traitors don't get VIP medical treatment, Mrs. Bates."

Cristina Crane, Annetta's mother-in-law, shot up from the adjacent chair. Her face was purple with rage. She pointed a trembling finger at Issac.

"You bastard!" Cristina screamed.

Milo, Issac's massive head of security, stepped forward. He shoved Cristina hard in the chest. She fell back onto the sofa. Her pearl necklace caught on his watch and snapped. Dozens of white pearls scattered across the floor, bouncing like hail.

Annetta didn't think. She moved.

She ripped her arm out of the federal agent's grip, lunged forward, and swung her hand with every ounce of strength she possessed.

Crack.

Her palm connected with Milo's cheekbone. The sound of the slap was like a gunshot in the cavernous room. Milo's head snapped to the side.

Every assault rifle in the room was instantly raised, the barrels pointed directly at Annetta's chest.

Annetta didn't step back. She stood over Cristina, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with a violent, protective fury. The quiet, submissive daughter-in-law was dead.

The sting in Annetta's palm radiated up her forearm.

Milo slowly turned his head back. A red handprint blossomed across his jaw. His eyes went flat and dead. He drew his sidearm from his thigh holster and pressed the cold steel barrel directly against the center of Annetta's forehead.

Annetta didn't blink. She didn't breathe. She looked past the gun, her eyes locking onto Issac sitting on the sofa.

Behind her, Clara let out a blood-curdling scream. The little girl wrapped her arms around Annetta's legs, burying her face in the wet fabric of her pants, shaking so violently her teeth chattered.

The sound of her daughter's terror pierced Annetta's armor. She forced her muscles to relax. She slowly turned her back to Milo, ignoring the gun aimed at her skull, and dropped to her knees.

She pulled Clara into her chest.

"Look at me, Clara," Annetta whispered, her voice impossibly soft, impossibly steady.

Clara looked up, her blue eyes swimming in tears.

"Daddy isn't dead," Annetta lied, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "He is on a secret mission. A very important mission to save the world."

She pointed a trembling finger at the heavily armed men surrounding them.

"These men are actors. Daddy sent them to test us. To see if we are brave enough to be a commander's family. You have to be brave, Clara. Don't let them see you cry."

Clara sniffled. She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve and gave a small, jerky nod. She forced her small shoulders back.

A loud, grating laugh echoed across the room.

Issac stood up, clapping his hands in a slow, mocking rhythm.

"A secret mission?" Issac sneered. "That is pathetic, Annetta. Feeding the brat fairy tales to cover up the fact that her father died a disgraced, thieving coward."

Annetta stood up. She reached over to the silver tray on the coffee table, pulled a silk tissue from the box, and meticulously wiped the blood and sweat from the hand she had used to strike Milo.

"A Crane does not lose their composure," Annetta said, her voice dripping with absolute disdain. "Even when dealing with rabid dogs."

Issac's smile vanished. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He closed the distance between them until Annetta could smell the stale coffee and tobacco on his breath.

He unzipped his leather briefcase and slammed a stack of documents onto the glass table. The heavy federal seals glared under the lights.

"Asset forfeiture," Issac hissed. "As of this exact second, every brick of this house, every dollar in your accounts, and the clothes on your back belong to the United States Government."

He snapped his fingers. Two female agents stepped forward.

"Take the jewelry," Issac ordered.

The agents grabbed Annetta. One unclasped the diamond pendant from her neck. The other grabbed her left hand and yanked the diamond wedding band off her finger.

Annetta's breath hitched. Her thumb instinctively rubbed the pale, indented skin where the ring had been for six years.

She dropped the jewelry onto the silver tray. The diamonds clattered against the metal. She didn't look at them.

Annetta was wearing only a thin, wet silk shirt.The draft in the massive hall was freezing. Goosebumps erupted across Annetta's bare arms, but she locked her knees and stood perfectly straight. An invisible armor of pure defiance.

Cristina watched her daughter-in-law. The woman she had called a 'commoner' for years stood freezing, yet Cristina did not move a muscle to help her, her jaw set in a rigid line of shock and self-preservation. Annetta ignored the stinging cold. She stepped forward, reaching into the pile of confiscated items on the table, and pulled out a discarded, heavy wool scarf that belonged to one of the security guards. She wrapped it tightly around her own shivering shoulders. She looked at her mother-in-law. There was still a chasm of judgment in Cristina's eyes, but Annetta didn't care.

Issac scoffed. He pulled a red pen from his pocket and picked up the final exile manifest.

"The Crane bloodline is being relocated to the Appalachian exclusion zone," Issac read, dragging out the syllables. He looked at Annetta. "But you aren't blood, are you?"

He pressed the red pen to the paper and violently scribbled Annetta and Clara's names at the bottom of the list.

"Now you are."

"She has an ironclad prenuptial agreement," Cristina snapped. "Asset isolation. You cannot legally exile her."

"Article 4, Section B," Annetta stated coldly. "I want my lawyer."

Issac picked up the business card of Annetta's attorney from the table and tore it in half. He let the pieces fall to the floor.

"Under the National Security Act, your civil contracts are toilet paper," Issac whispered, leaning in close. "Unless, of course, you want to get on your knees and beg me for an exception."

Annetta stared into his dark, gloating eyes.

She gathered the saliva in her mouth, mixed with the blood from her cut cheek, and spat directly onto the toe of Issac's custom Italian leather shoe.

The bloody saliva hit the polished black leather with a wet smack.

The entire room went dead silent. The federal agents shifted uncomfortably. Milo's hand twitched toward his holster.

Issac looked down at his shoe. The skin around his eyes pulled tight. His face flushed a dark, violent red. He raised his hand, his palm open, preparing to strike Annetta with everything he had.

Before his hand could fall, the wail of military sirens shattered the silence outside.

Tires screeched on the wet gravel. The heavy oak doors of the manor were shoved open. Four Army officers in full dress greens marched into the hall.

The lead captain held up a Department of Defense clipboard, stepping directly between Issac and Annetta.

"Mr. Rocha," the Captain said, his voice flat and bureaucratic. "We are here to transfer the remains."

Behind the officers, four enlisted soldiers carried a heavy, black military body bag by its nylon handles. The thick rubber dragged slightly against the marble floor, making a sickening squeak.

Cristina's knees gave out. She collapsed onto the sofa, pressing both hands over her mouth to stifle a guttural, agonizing wail.

Annetta stopped breathing. Her eyes locked onto the white serial numbers stenciled on the side of the black bag. Her fingernails dug into her palms so hard the skin broke again.

Issac lowered his hand. He smoothed the lapels of his suit, a cruel smile returning to his lips.

"Set it down," Issac ordered the soldiers. "As the lead investigator, I need to confirm the identity of the traitor."

The soldiers hesitated, looking at the Captain. The Captain gave a stiff nod. They lowered the bag to the floor.

Issac walked over to the body bag. He grabbed the heavy metal zipper and yanked it down to the chest level.

The stench hit the room instantly. It was a suffocating, putrid wave of charred meat, melted synthetic fabric, and sharp formaldehyde.

Cristina gagged and turned her head away, her body shaking violently.

Annetta's stomach violently rebelled. Acid burned the back of her throat. But she forced her eyes open. She stared down into the bag.

The body was a blackened, carbonized husk. The facial features were completely melted away.

Issac reached out with his leather-gloved hand. He tapped the charred shoulder of the corpse.

"Look at the great Delta Force Commander now," Issac mocked, his voice echoing in the silent hall. "Looks like a piece of overcooked steak."

The words snapped the tether holding Annetta's sanity.

She shoved past the federal agents. She slammed her shoulder into Issac's chest, knocking him off balance. She threw herself over the body bag, grabbing the zipper and violently pulling it shut.

She turned on her knees, looking up at Issac with eyes full of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Show some respect," Annetta hissed, her voice vibrating with rage. "He died in uniform."

Issac stumbled back, recovering his balance. His eyes darkened. He stepped close to Annetta, leaning down until his mouth was inches from her ear.

"I can take your name off the list, Annetta," Issac whispered, his voice a slick, oily threat. "You and the brat. I have a penthouse in Georgetown. You can stay there. Waiting for me. It would be... poetic."

He reached out, his gloved finger tracing the line of her jaw.

A wave of pure nausea crashed over Annetta.

She didn't speak. She reached to the collar of her blouse, her fingers closing around the sharp, decorative silver brooch pinned to the fabric. She ripped it off.

With a vicious, upward thrust, Annetta drove the two-inch steel pin of the brooch directly into the back of Issac's hand.

Issac let out a high-pitched scream. He yanked his hand back. The brooch stayed embedded in his flesh. Thick, dark blood welled up around the metal, dripping onto the marble floor.

"Bitch!" Issac roared.

Milo and two agents tackled Annetta. They slammed her face-first into the cold marble. A heavy knee dropped onto her spine, driving the air from her lungs. Her cheek pressed against the freezing stone.Clara stood aside, too terrified to even scream.

She couldn't breathe, but she smiled. A cold, terrifying smile.

"A Crane woman," Annetta gasped out, her voice carrying across the room, "would rather die in the snow than spread her legs for a coward."

The Army Captain looked at Annetta. A flicker of deep, undeniable respect crossed his rigid features.

Cristina turned her head and glared at Issac, her pride as the matriarch finally overriding her shock. "You dare sanction physical violence in my home, Rocha?" Cristina said, her voice resonating with the cold, bureaucratic power of a former Senator's wife. "Do not think you are untouchable. If you turn this house into a slaughterhouse, I will spend my last breath ensuring tomorrow's Congressional hearing skins you alive for gross abuse of federal authority."

Issac clutched his bleeding hand. He looked at the Army officers watching him. He knew he couldn't execute them here.

"Get them out of my sight," Issac spat. "Take them to the federal holding cells. Put them on the first transport to the mountains tomorrow."

The agents hauled Annetta off the floor. She leaned heavily against Cristina. Together, the two women took the little girl turned their backs on Issac Rocha and walked out of the manor, their heads held high.