Celeste stepped inside, forcing him back. The Colonel followed, his expression grim.

“This is an intervention, darling,” Celeste said, her gaze sweeping over our thrift-store table and the scuffed boots by the door. She snapped her fingers, and the Colonel pulled a thick manila envelope from his briefcase and dropped it on our sagging sofa.

“Captain Mara Harrington,” the Colonel said, clipped. “You are under preliminary investigation for the theft of a four-carat diamond heirloom necklace, reported missing from the VIP suite at The Ritz this evening.”

Cold dread coiled in my gut. “That’s a lie. I was never in the VIP suite.”

“We have two witnesses who say otherwise,” the Colonel replied. “Given your financial background compared to the Harrington family, the motive is clear.

Pending the investigation, you’re suspended from active duty. If convicted, you face a dishonorable discharge and up to ten years in federal prison.”