After two years of military service,

Paramedics rushed toward the truck with a heated gurney, stepping efficiently around Eleanor and Paige.

"Sir, what do we have?" the lead paramedic asked as his partner opened the passenger door.

"Hypothermia, severe exposure, and signs of physical assault," I reported crisply, stepping alongside them. "She was unconscious on the concrete driveway for an unknown duration. Pulse is weak and thready. Severe contusions on her right wrist."

As the paramedics carefully lifted Hannah onto the gurney, wrapped her in thermal blankets, and fitted an oxygen mask over her face, two city police officers approached.

Officer Miller, a seasoned veteran with graying temples, recognized me instantly. He had known my father for twenty years.

"Lucas?" Miller blinked in shock, looking at my uniform, then at the gurney, and finally at Eleanor and Paige standing on the porch steps. "My God, son. You just got back from overseas?"

"An hour ago, Officer Miller," I said, my voice crisp and steady. "I came home to surprise my wife. I found her unconscious on the icy pavement, suffering from hypothermia, while my mother and sister were dining inside."

"That is a complete lie!" Eleanor shouted, rushing down the steps, her mink coat fluttering around her. "Officer Miller, you know me! I am Eleanor Vance-Carter! This is my house! That girl is an ungrateful, unstable gold-digger who threw herself onto the ice to frame us because we asked her to do household chores!"

Officer Miller held up a heavy gloved hand. "Ma'am, step back and let the paramedics do their job."

"Do not tone-police me in my own driveway!" Paige yelled, pulling out her phone. "My mother owns this entire property! We will have your badge for this, Miller! My mother’s attorney is on speed dial!"

"Is that so?" a deep, booming voice called out from the street.

A dark black sedan pulled up behind the police cruisers. Stepping out into the falling snow was Mason Ward—six-foot-three, wearing a sharp charcoal trench coat, holding a heavy leather briefcase. Mason was sixty years old, a legendary trial attorney, and my late father’s closest personal friend.

Eleanor gasped, her confident posture wavering for the first time. "Mason? What are you doing here at this hour?"

"I’m here representing my client, Lucas Carter, and the sole legal beneficiary of the Carter Family Trust—Hannah Carter," Mason announced smoothly, walking up beside me and placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Client?!" Paige laughed nervously. "Mason, you’re our family lawyer! You managed Dad’s estate! You know everything belongs to Mother!"

"I managed your father's estate until two weeks before he passed away, Paige," Mason corrected her softly, his eyes filled with profound pity and disgust. "And I think it’s time we all step inside the warm house to clarify a few legal realities... while Officer Miller conducts his investigation."

The paramedics loaded Hannah into the back of the ambulance. Before they closed the doors, I climbed inside, leaning down to press my lips against her pale cheek.

"I’m going with her to the hospital," I told Officer Miller.

"Go, Lucas," Miller nodded grimly. "My partner and I will secure the scene. We’re reviewing the exterior security camera footage right now."

At the mention of security cameras, Paige’s face drained of every last drop of color. She glanced frantically at Eleanor, whose hands had begun to shake beneath her mink stole.

"Wait!" Paige stammered. "The... the security system is private! You can't look at those recordings without a warrant!"

Mason Ward smiled—a slow, predator-like smile that chilled the air more than the winter storm.

"The security system is owned by the property trust, Paige," Mason said, opening his briefcase and pulling out an iPad. "And as trustee, Lucas has already granted full law enforcement access to the cloud servers. Officer Miller... if you check the footage from 4:15 PM, you’ll find the entire incident recorded in 4K resolution."