The day I was awarded the highest service medal, I got a call that my grandfather had died.

My superiors approved emergency leave, and I rushed straight back to the family estate without stopping.

The moment I reached the hillside cemetery behind the house, what I saw snapped something inside me.

Our family burial ground had been completely leveled. My parents' graves had been dug open.

Their urns had been turned into flower pot bases, with dark-red roses planted right on top of them.

My grandfather's coffin had been split apart. His body was left exposed in the dirt, already starting to rot.

And my younger brother, Jerry Horton, who was on the autism spectrum, was being ordered around like a laborer by my husband's assistant, Digby Wolfe, hauling construction materials back and forth.

I lost it.

I grabbed Digby and slammed him into the ground with a hard shoulder throw.

"You touched my family's graves and made my brother do manual labor. Are you trying to get buried here with them?"

Digby coughed up blood as he struggled to his feet, sneering at me.

"This was Mr. Gray's decision. He said your family plot is in a good location, with plenty of space. It's perfect for building a golf course for the future Mrs. Gray. In Joule, Mr. Gray is the law."

His tone was icy.

"And who do you think you are?"

I swallowed my rage and called Marshall Gray.

"I hear you run Joule," I said. "Well, I'm about to change that."

Marshall's voice came through the phone, arrogant and amused.

"You sure talk big. Go ahead and try, then. Since you don't know your place, I'll show you how things work in Joule. Talking to me like that is enough to get you killed."

The line went dead. He hung up without hesitation.

He didn't even recognize my voice.

We had been married barely over a month when I was sent on a classified mission and cut off from all contact.

I was gone for seven years. Before I left, I entrusted my family to Marshall, my new husband.

And now, my loved ones were humiliated because of me. Even in death, they weren't allowed to rest. It was clear I had trusted the wrong man.

Digby smirked when he heard the busy tone.

"You hear that? Mr. Gray doesn't even know who you are, you crazy woman. Your threats are nothing. And you said this is your family plot, huh? How dare you pretend to be Mrs. Gray? The real Mrs. Gray has been dead for years!"

I froze.

So while I was gone on that mission, Marshall had publicly declared me dead.

Digby waved his hand, and a group of security guards closed in around me.

"Mr. Gray now only has eyes for the superstar, Ms. Lawson," he said mockingly. "If you wanted to scam someone, you should've done your homework. Pretending to be a dead ex-wife? Please. Dead people should stay in their coffins. Now get out of here."

The folks watching nearby started whispering and pointing.

"She didn't even research properly. She's pretending to be a dead woman whose body's probably dust by now!"

"Exactly. Trying to pass herself off as the richest man's wife. She should take a look in the mirror!"

I said nothing. I walked toward my parents' urns, the ones being used as flower pot bases, planning to dig them out and rebury them properly.

Digby stepped in first and kicked one of the ceramic urns hard.

It shattered instantly. My parents' ashes spilled across the ground, mixing with dirt and fertilizer.

He grinned viciously. "Ashes from the dead make great fertilizer. Perfect for Ms. Lawson's roses. At least they're useful now. She said this junk was taking up space, anyway. Flowers look much better."

My eyes burned red.

Those were my parents. They had died serving the country, and Marshall had benefited plenty from their martyr status over the years.

And this was how it ended. They didn't even have a place to rest.

Jerry let out a broken sound when he saw the ashes scatter. He rushed forward without thinking, trying to scoop them up with his bare hands.

"No…" he cried. "No…"

Digby kicked him away in disgust. "Get lost, you idiot! Don't dirty Ms. Lawson's roses. A retard trying to protect ashes? Give me a break."

Jerry rolled across the ground. Shards of broken ceramic sliced into his palms. Blood poured out, but he still tried to gather the ashes with shaking hands.

As I watched Jerry curl on the ground, his body covered in old and new injuries, something inside my chest finally snapped completely.

I lunged forward and slammed my elbow straight into Digby's nose.

There was a sharp crack as bone gave way, and blood burst out instantly. Digby screamed and staggered back, clutching his face.

I rushed to Jerry, pulled him up, and lifted his thin shirt.

Jerry's bony back was covered in whip marks and cigarette burns, layers of old and fresh scars stacked over each other. It was horrifying.

Some of the burns were still oozing pus, giving off a sour, rotten smell. The cuts on his arms had scabbed over but were swollen and infected.

Jerry was autistic, but he had been a gentle and obedient kid since he was little.

And this was what they had done to him.

"Who did this?" My voice was ice-cold.

Jerry trembled all over. He hugged his head and whispered, barely audible, "Don't hit me… I'm a good boy… I'll move rocks…"

I couldn't even imagine what my brother had been put through.

Marshall, that heartless piece of trash… I was still alive, and he couldn't wait to cheat, let his people and his mistress abuse my family, and even desecrate the dead!

I bit down hard on my lip until I tasted blood, barely holding back the rage boiling inside me.

I pulled out my phone and was about to call 911 when Digby snatched it away and smashed it on the ground.

"Calling the cops?" he sneered. "It's pointless! Mr. Gray will make the matter disappear."

He pointed to a large pit nearby, which had been dug out for an artificial lake on the golf course. The bottom was filled with broken rocks and rusted steel bars sticking out at odd angles.

"You want your idiot brother to stop suffering?" he said with a vicious grin. "Fine. Crawl in there and use your mouth to pick out every rock. Then I'll let him go. Go and fetch stones for Ms. Lawson like a good dog."

The crowd whispered among themselves. Some of them even took out their phones and started recording.

I looked at Jerry's terrified face, and my heart felt like it was being carved open.

He was shaking, but he recognized me now. His hands clutched my clothes tightly, as if he was afraid I would really jump into that pit.

"Tiff, Tiff… I'll do it…"

I was about to move when Jerry suddenly broke free from my grip and stumbled toward the pit.

"I'll do it… Don't hit us…" he kept repeating as he tried to jump down.

Something inside me snapped completely.

I grabbed half a brick from the ground and smashed it into the back of a guard's neck, then ripped the stun baton from his hand.

I drove it straight into Digby's thigh.

The baton crackled loudly. Digby screamed and collapsed, convulsing on the ground.

"Are you all dead or what?" Digby howled. "Get her! Cripple that tramp!"

The moment he finished speaking, more than ten guards rushed in. No matter how good I was at fighting, I couldn't take on that many trained men alone.

A baton smashed into my back. I stumbled, and the rest seized the chance to pin me down with riot shields and steel forks until I couldn't move.

Batons rained down on my back. It felt like my organs were being shaken loose. My throat filled with blood, and I spat it out.

"You crazy chick," someone yelled. "How dare you hit Mr. Wolfe! You're dead!"

A steel fork pressed against my neck. I couldn't breathe. My vision darkened.

Jerry cried nearby and tried to rush over, only to be kicked away. He crawled back up and grabbed Digby's pant leg.

"Don't hit her… I'll fetch the rocks… I'll do it… Don't hurt Tiff…"

Poor Jerry. He could barely get the words out, but he didn't care about the pain as he begged them to stop.

"Then hurry up, idiot," Digby sneered. "Stop talking. Go finish it, and I'll let her go."

"Okay…" Jerry stammered.

Jerry struggled to his feet and jumped into the deep pit.

Exposed rebar sliced into his skin. Blood dripped down, staining the gray dirt a dark red.

He clenched his teeth and tried to grab the rocks with his mouth, but they were bigger than his jaw. There was no way he could bite them.

He forced his mouth open anyway. His jaw dislocated from the strain, and blood mixed with saliva as it poured down his chin.

"Jerry! Stop!" I screamed until my throat tore, tears blurring everything.

But Jerry kept going.

Digby watched him suffer, not with pity, but with growing impatience.

"Hurry up! How long is this supposed to take?" He started barking at the guards. "I've changed my mind. Tie that crazy woman and that idiot together and set them in front of the bulldozer. Mr. Gray said this land has to be flattened today."

My blood went cold.

Several guards roughly bound Jerry and me with thick wire and strapped us to the front of the massive bulldozer. The steel treads pressed against my back.

The engine roared to life. Black smoke swallowed us whole.

Jerry shook violently, terrified, but he wrapped his arms around me, trying to steady me instead.

"Tiff… Don't be scared… Don't be scared…" he mumbled, his words slurred.

Then, all of a sudden, he pointed at my grandfather's body.

"They fed… Grandpa… medicine…"

My entire body jolted.

My grandfather had always been strong. How could he have died so suddenly? Had his death been tied to Marshall and the rest of them?

That thought detonated something inside me. I forced my wrist out of alignment, using a joint-dislocation technique.

The pain was blinding, but the wire slipped loose. I snapped the joint back into place with my other hand.

I reached my ankle, pulled out the Swiss Army knife strapped there, and cut through the restraints. I grabbed Jerry and rolled away just as the bulldozer lunged forward.

The steel tread scraped past my head, tearing out a chunk of my hair. Blood seeped down my scalp.

I ignored the pain, charged the cab, and kicked the driver out of the seat.

He screamed as he hit the ground.

Digby's face twisted in shock. He shouted at the guards, "All of you, go! Kill her! Mr. Gray will cover it. Mr. Gray wants her dead!"

More than ten guards rushed toward us, steel pipes and batons raised.

I held Jerry tight as we were swallowed again by the crowd.

A steel pipe slammed into my back. I collapsed.

That was when my hand brushed against the satellite phone at my waist. The call connected automatically to the private line of my commander, Henry Kinsman.

"Tiffany," he said. "What's going on?"