My daughter whispered, “Dad, help,” and the line went d.ead. I drove at 100 mph to her in-laws’ mansion. My son-in-law blocked the porch, gripping a baseball bat, sneering, “This is a private family matter. Your daughter needed discipline.”
CONTINUE: “You will regret this,” Doris screamed. “We own judges. We own police. You are finished.” Harold reached into his pocket and pulled out his old flip phone. He dialed a number stored in memory. The call connected quickly. “Colonel Adams,” Harold said. “This is retired Sergeant Major Harold Bennett. I need assistance at a…