The next morning, I woke early, my internal clock still tuned to deployment hours. The house was quiet, except for the gentle creaking of settling wood and the soft rustle of leaves outside. I had spent the night thinking, every detail of my plan falling into place with military precision.
First, I needed information. I quietly slipped into the study where my parents kept their computer and financial paperwork. I knew my parents’ habits — they’d often print out bank statements to review. My mother believed digital records were too vulnerable to hackers, ironic given the theft they’d committed.
As I sifted through papers, I found what I was looking for: a series of unexplained cash withdrawals aligning with when my deployment checks would’ve arrived. My stomach twisted with a mix of anger and determination. This was the proof I needed.
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