How does it feel to be a broke, pathetic soldier?” Olivia, my younger sister, the girl I had spent my entire youth raising, threw that insult right in my face in the middle of Christmas dinner.

By noon, the whispering corridors of the Holloway mansion had turned into an echo chamber of desperation.

The radiant underfloor heating had already begun to cool as the automated utility management system, linked to the canceled corporate card, downgraded service to emergency minimums. Outside, the temperature hovered around twenty-two degrees.

Olivia paced the length of the massive living room, her breath forming faint plumes of mist in the chill of the cavernous room. Her phone was glued to her ear.

"Pick up, you miserable bitch! Pick up!" she screamed, listening to the monotonous ringing on the other end.

In the driveway, a flatbed tow truck from the luxury vehicle dealership had already pulled up to the gate. Julian was standing outside in the biting wind, wearing an oversized parka, waving his arms hysterically at two burly repo agents who held clipboards and digital tablets.

"You can't touch that Porsche! It's leased under an executive contract!" Julian screamed, his voice cracking against the wind.

"Contract default, pal," the lead driver said without even looking at him, hooking the winch cable to the front axle of the gleaming black 911. "Corporate account holder terminated the lease payment guarantee at 0800. Non-payment acceleration. Step back, or I call the county sheriff for obstruction."

Olivia slammed the kitchen window shut, shivering violently. She dialed Morgan’s number for the twenty-seventh time.

This time, the ringing stopped.

The line clicked open.

Olivia didn't even wait for a greeting. She unleashed a torrent of venom, her voice screeching into the receiver. "Morgan! What the hell do you think you're doing?! Are you completely insane?! Julian’s cars are being towed! My cards were declined at the grocery store! How dare you do this to me after everything Mom said to you?!"

On the other end of the line, there was no anger. No defensive shouting. Only the steady, rhythmic sound of computer keys clacking and the low murmur of wind against timber.

"Hello, Olivia," I said calmly.

"Don't you 'Hello, Olivia' me!" she shrieked, tears of pure rage spilling over her mascara. "You call the bank right now and fix this! You tell them it was a mistake! Do you know how humiliating this is?! The neighbors are watching! Julian has an important meeting with his partners today, and you are destroying his reputation!"

"Julian doesn't have partners, Olivia," I replied, my voice steady, cool, and completely unbothered. "Julian has victims. And as of this morning, the state attorney general's financial crimes division has been handed a two-hundred-page dossier detailing every single forged signature, fraudulent loan, and illegal wire transfer he executed over the last twenty-four months."

A suffocating silence fell over the line. Olivia blinked, the sheer weight of my words piercing her wall of denial.

"What... what are you talking about?" she stammered. "Julian is an investor. He runs an advisory firm—"

"Julian is an unemployed social parasite who stole four million dollars from my holding company to play make-believe high roller," I interrupted, my tone cutting through her delusions like a scalpel. "He took the money I earned while sleeping on steel bunks in combat zones, forged my name, and gambled it away on bankrupt Florida real estate and private jets. And you sat there last night, in a mansion paid for by my sweat, carrying a purse paid for by my blood, and called me a broke, pathetic soldier."

"I... I was joking, Morgan!" Olivia cried, her voice shifting instantly from arrogant fury to desperate, manipulative whining. "It was just a joke! You know how Julian is, he likes to banter! You're taking it too seriously! We're family! Mom told you to take care of me! You swore on her deathbed, Morgan! You can't just throw me out in the cold! You promised Mom!"

I closed my eyes for a single second, feeling the ghost of my mother’s fragile grip on my navy uniform sleeve.

*Take care of your sister. She is too young.*

"Mom told me to take care of you, Olivia," I said softly, each word deliberate and final. "She didn't tell me to finance your sociopathy. I paid for your college tuition without you taking a single penny of student loans. I paid for your wedding. I bought the house you're standing in. I gave you a monthly allowance greater than the annual salary of a combat infantryman. I fulfilled my promise ten times over."

"Morgan, please—"

"You didn't want an older sister, Olivia. You wanted a sponsor. You wanted a cash machine in combat boots," I continued, feeling an incredible, weightless freedom wash over my chest. "Well, the bank is closed. The eviction notice has been filed with the county. You have forty-eight hours to vacate the Whispering Pines property before the sheriff removes you by force. Have a wonderful New Year, Olivia."

"Morgan! Morgan, wait! Don't you hang up on me! You can't do this! I'll sue you! I'll tell everyone what kind of monster you are—"

I tapped the red button on my screen. The line disconnected.

I set the phone face down on the pine desk. Across from me, Cole Miller looked up from his terminal, raising an eyebrow.

"How did she take it?" Cole asked.

"About how you'd expect," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Get the legal team ready for Phase Three. Julian isn't the type to pack his bags and go quietly. He's going to try one last desperate play to save face."

Cole grinned, cold and predatory. "The Highland Oaks New Year's Gala is tomorrow night. Julian still thinks his five-thousand-dollar custom tuxedo and that bounced VIP table check are going to save his social standing."