My mother slapped me across the face at my father’s black-tie birthday and ordered security to throw me out while two hundred powerful guests watched. Then the governor stood up, looked my father dead in the eyes, and revealed the one thing my family never imagined: I wasn’t there as their disgraced daughter.

Desperate men with powerful contacts do not go down without a fight.

On Thursday night, as I walked through the underground parking garage of the Federal Building toward my assigned military vehicle, the heavy silence of the concrete structure was suddenly broken by the squeal of tires.

A dark SUV with blacked-out windows accelerated down the ramp, its headlights blinding me as it sped directly toward my position.

I didn't freeze. My military instinct took over instantly.

I unholstered my sidearm in a fluid, single second, side-stepping behind a thick concrete support pillar just as the SUV slammed into the side of my parked sedan with a deafening crunch of metal and shattering glass.

The SUV reversed sharply, preparing to swing around for another pass.

"HALT! U.S. ARMY CID!" I roared, leveling my weapon directly through the driver's side windshield.

Through the tinted glass, I saw two men in dark clothes. The driver cursed, threw the SUV into reverse, and tore up the exit ramp, tires smoking against the concrete floor.

Within thirty seconds, security alarms echoed through the garage.

Agent Vance and four armed federal officers came pouring down the stairwell, weapons drawn.

"Colonel! Are you hit?!" Vance yelled, rushing to my side.

"I'm fine," I said, stepping out from behind the pillar, my hand steady as I holstered my sidearm. "They weren't trying to scare me. They were trying to destroy the primary backup drive in my briefcase."

"Who sent them?" Vance asked, looking at the crushed driver's side door of my sedan.

"Sterling," I said, wiping a fleck of broken glass from my sleeve. "He knows the federal grand jury meets tomorrow morning. He's running out of options."

Ten minutes later, Governor Hale arrived at the scene with his state police escort. He walked down the garage ramp, looking at the crushed vehicle, then turned to me with deep respect in his eyes.

"Claire, Senator Sterling just attempted to board a private jet at DeKalb-Peachtree Airport," Governor Hale said, holding up his phone. "State Troopers and federal marshals grounded the aircraft five minutes ago. He was carrying two passports and three million dollars in bearer bonds."

I let out a long, slow breath, feeling the tension that had gripped my shoulders for five years finally begin to loosen.