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Three years at Yale, I missed the Texas heat and the Sterling ranch, counting down the days to surprise my sister, Lily. I pictured our joyful reunion, the familiar echo of laughter in the grand halls. Instead, a chilling silence hung over the mansion. Her familiar room was replaced by a gaudy guest suite. A faint, rhythmic creaking led me to the gardens. There, under a wilting magnolia, stood a crude dog run. And inside, a tattered pink fabric betrayed the unimaginable – Lily. My sister, rail-thin, hair matted, whimpered, "No... no cookies. Cookies are for good people. Master says I'm a pet." Just then, Pamela, my stepmother, emerged, smug and heavily pregnant, dangling Lily's half of our family's sacred Falcon emblem. "Ava, darling. Home a bit sooner than expected, aren't we?" "That badge means power, and Lily graciously gave me her share," she purred, her gaze predatory, eyeing mine. How could Robert, my own father, stand by while his daughter was brutalized? He had shielded Pamela, allowed her to twist our family's legacy into this grotesque nightmare. This wasn't merely a family dispute; it was an act of heinous cruelty. A deliberate erasure of everything my mother had built. And I, the rightful heir, was now utterly alone, powerless. When her goons cornered me, tearing away my own Falcon emblem, she declared Falcon International finally hers. But they didn't know that under my shirt, hidden by years of preparation, was a silent beacon. With a single, desperate press, I had activated the Ghost Tactical Squad-Falcon's most elite, most discreet unit. The game was about to change.