“Another faker, looking for sympathy,” Cain muttered to himself, his hand moving to his radio as he prepared to make what he considered a routine enforcement action. Frank had no idea that his simple trip to the VA for his monthly checkup was about to become a confrontation that would test not only his own resolve, but also the unbreakable bonds of the Marine Corps Brotherhood that had sustained him through two decades of service and 21 years of civilian life.

Frank’s routine at the VA medical center had become as precise as any military operation over the past two decades. Every third Tuesday of the month, he would arrive at exactly 9:30 a.m. for his 10 oz. appointment with Dr. Patricia Chin, his prosthetist, who had been helping him maintain his artificial legs since his return from Iraq.

The parking space Frank chose was the same one he had used for years—close enough to the entrance to minimize the distance he had to travel, but positioned where his van’s wheelchair lift wouldn’t block traffic. The Purple Heart license plate on his vehicle told a story of sacrifice that most people respected without question, but Officer Kaine was not most people.

As Frank gathered his medical files and prepared for his appointment, Cain emerged from his patrol car with the deliberate swagger of someone who believed his badge gave him authority over everyone he encountered. His eight years with the Phoenix Police Department had been marked by numerous complaints about excessive force and unprofessional conduct, but his connections within the department had protected him from serious consequences.