My husband shoved me, shattering the bathroom mirror. His mother sneered, “Clean up this disgusting mess.” But as I fell, my husband roared, “What’s in your pocket?!” The red LED of my federal distress fob pulsed. Denied the third click, I threw myself onto the broken glass, and…

to me.

With the funds I had managed to legally secure from my own accounts before the raid, and a substantial consulting job I had landed using the skills that helped bring down an empire, I was rebuilding.

I walked into the entryway, dropping my keys into a ceramic bowl. I reached into my purse and pulled out the heavy, matte-black tactical keychain.continue reading …