My father looked at the scars on my back and called me an embarrassment in front of 200 guests—but seconds later, the highest-ranking man in the ballroom saluted me and exposed the secret my family never bothered to learn.

Three days later, I was back in Norfolk to oversee the drydock inspections of two littoral combat ships assigned to my new command sector.

I was staying at the historic Waterside Marriott, keeping a low profile in civilian jeans and a black bomber jacket. I had forty-eight hours before my flight to Pearl Harbor, where my new headquarters was being finalized.

I was crossing the hotel lobby toward the coffee shop when two figures stepped out from behind the marble pillars.

Patricia and Lauren.

Lauren looked terrible. The polished, smug girl who had torn my emerald blouse was gone. She wore no makeup, her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and she was clutching an oversized trench coat around herself like armor. Patricia looked ten years older, the tight, Botoxed elegance of her face sagging under sheer terror.

“Emily,” Patricia said, her voice trembling. “Please. Just five minutes.”

I stopped. Two plainclothes Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS) agents who were assigned to my security detail immediately shifted their stances twenty feet away. I raised a subtle finger, signaling them to hold back.

“There’s nothing to discuss, Patricia.”

“There is,” Lauren cried, stepping forward. Her voice wasn't arrogant anymore; it was pathetic. “Emily, Derek dumped me. His family literally packed my things from their beach house and left them on the curb. Everyone at my firm is whispering about me. The senior partners told me to take an unpaid leave of absence because clients are demanding I be removed from their accounts.”

I looked at my younger sister. I looked for the anger I had felt on the gala floor, but all I found was profound, empty exhaustion.

“And you think that’s my fault, Lauren?”

“You could fix it!” Lauren sobbed, tears cutting through the dust on her cheeks. “If you just post a picture with me! A video saying we were joking around, that sisters fight, that we love each other! If people see that you forgave me, the harassment will stop!”

“You didn't tear my dress because we were joking, Lauren.”

“I was drunk!” she blurted out.

“You don't drink gin, Lauren. You had sparkling cider in your hand all night. I watched you.”

Lauren froze, caught in the lie.

“You tore my dress because you’ve spent your entire life watching Arthur praise you for tearing other people down,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “You thought humilating me would make you look taller in his eyes. You’ve been doing it since you were twelve years old, and he rewarded you for it every single time.”

Patricia stepped between us, her hands shaking as she tried to reach for my arm. I stepped back, out of reach.

“Emily, your father hasn't slept in three days,” Patricia pleaded. “His blood pressure is through the roof. His former board members are demanding an independent audit of his last three years of shipping invoices because nobody trusts his character anymore. If they find irregularities... Emily, he could lose his pension. He could lose the house!”

I stared at Patricia. “If Arthur committed financial irregularities, that has nothing to do with me. That’s between him and the Department of Justice.”

“How can you be so heartless?” Patricia hissed, a flash of her old venom breaking through her desperation. “He raised you! He paid for your undergraduate degree! You owe him your respect!”

“He paid for two years of state college before cutting me off because I refused to major in corporate finance,” I corrected her. “The Navy paid for the rest. The Navy paid for my master’s. The Navy paid for my medical treatments. And the people who stood by me while surgeons pulled shrapnel out of my spine weren't you, or Lauren, or Arthur. They were twenty-year-old corpsmen who didn't give a damn about Arthur Vance’s country club reputation.”

I turned toward the hotel elevators.

“Emily!” Lauren screamed, dropping to her knees on the polished lobby floor, heedless of the tourists staring at her. “Please! What do you want from me? Do you want an apology? I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Just fix my life!”

I stopped at the elevator doors and looked back over my shoulder at my sister kneeling on the floor.

“I don’t want your apology, Lauren,” I said quietly. “I wanted a sister. But you chose to be an assassin. You just didn't realize the target had armor.”