She pulled back harder this time.
“I said don’t touch me,” she shouted.
That didn’t change anything.
The second agent stepped in.
Firm. Controlled. No aggression.
Just inevitability.
That’s when she broke completely.
Her eyes snapped to me and everything shifted.
“Cassidy,” she said, voice cracking, desperate now. “Cassidy, please.”
She moved forward on her knees, ignoring the agents for a second, hands reaching toward me like that would fix it.
“Please, you don’t have to do this,” she said, tears running freely. “We’re family. I’m your sister.”
I didn’t move.
She grabbed onto my sleeve, tight, like she was holding on to the last thing keeping her from falling apart.
“You can stop this,” she said. “Just tell them. Tell them it’s a misunderstanding. You have that authority, right? You can fix this.”
I looked down at her hand on my arm.
Didn’t pull away.
Didn’t react.
Just let her say it.
“Cassidy, please,” she whispered now, voice almost gone. “You’re not going to send your own sister to a military prison.”
The room stayed quiet.
Everyone watching.
No one interrupting.
Because this part wasn’t about law anymore.
It was about truth.
I slowly crouched down in front of her.
Not to help. Not to comfort.
Just to be at eye level.
For a second, she looked relieved, like she thought this was the moment everything turned.
Like I was about to help her up.
Fix it.
Undo it.
She smiled through the tears.
Small. Hopeful.
That was her mistake.
I reached forward, not for her hand, not for her shoulder.
For her collar.
My fingers closed around the metal insignia on her uniform.
Major.
I held it there for a second, then pulled hard.
The fabric shifted.
The pin snapped loose with a sharp click.
The insignia came off clean.
I held it up between us.
She stared at it, then at me.
Confused. Broken.
“You’re not my sister,” I said.
Clear. Slow. No anger.
Just truth.
Her face collapsed.
“And you don’t deserve to wear this uniform.”
I let the insignia drop.
It hit the floor with a small metallic sound that echoed louder than it should have.
“You signed off on equipment that failed in the field,” I continued. “You pushed contracts that put soldiers at risk.”
Her lips trembled, but no words came out.
“You traded their safety for money,” I said. “For comfort. For things that don’t matter.”
I leaned in slightly, just enough for her to hear every word.
“I’ve spent nights making sure people like them come home alive,” I said quietly. “And you turned that into a transaction.”
Tears streamed down her face.
She shook her head weakly.
“I didn’t—”
“You did.”
No hesitation. No softness.
“You don’t get to rewrite it now.”
I straightened up slowly.
The agent stepped in again.
This time, she didn’t resist.
Didn’t pull away. Didn’t fight.
Her hands were brought behind her back.
Cuffs clicked into place.
Final.
She let out a small broken sound.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just empty.
Trent didn’t look at her.
He kept his eyes on the floor because he knew there was no version of this where he walked away.
My father still hadn’t moved.
He was watching everything.
Every second. Every word.
And he couldn’t stop it.
Couldn’t interrupt. Couldn’t command his way out of it.
Because this wasn’t about rank anymore.
It was about consequence.
