Chapter 2
I had not heard William Mercer’s name spoken in a room without people lowering their voices in seven years.
Not since my divorce.
Not since his son left me standing outside a courthouse and told me I would regret choosing duty over family.
Now his company name sat on a falsified safety report in my hand.
And twenty-six soldiers were in medical care because someone had decided paperwork mattered more than breathing.
I looked at Colonel Pierce.
“Where are the affected soldiers?”
“Base hospital. Building 14 was evacuated. North barracks are sealed.”
“And Hargrove?”
Pierce’s jaw flexed.
“He signed final compliance.”
Hargrove finally found his voice.
“Those reports were routine. I don’t personally inspect every vent and wire.”
I turned toward him.
“No. But you personally certify that someone did.”
His face hardened.
The fear slipped.
The arrogance returned in pieces.
“General, with respect, this is an operational matter. We should discuss it privately.”
The dining hall went even quieter.
I stepped closer.
“With respect, Major, you lost the privilege of privacy when you attacked me in front of enlisted soldiers.”
His eyes flashed.
“I didn’t attack you.”
I looked down at my ruined uniform.
“Interesting definition.”
A young corporal near the front spoke before he could stop himself.
“He does it all the time.”
Every head turned.
The corporal went rigid, terrified by his own courage.
Hargrove glared.
I looked at the soldier.
“Name.”
“Corporal Ellis, ma’am.”
“What does he do all the time?”
Ellis swallowed.
“He humiliates people. Food. Inspections. Extra duty. Threatens reports if anyone complains.”
Hargrove snapped, “That is a lie.”
Another voice came from the back.
“It isn’t, ma’am.”
Then another.
“He made Private Willis clean mold with no mask.”
“He called maintenance complaints ‘whining.’”
“He said sick soldiers were trying to dodge duty.”
The room broke open.
Not into chaos.
Into truth.
I held up one hand.
The voices stopped.
“Colonel Pierce, record statements from every willing soldier. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I looked at Hargrove.
“You are relieved of facilities oversight pending investigation.”
His face twisted.
“You can’t do that without—”
“I can.”
I turned to the lieutenant.
“Escort Major Hargrove to the command office. He is not to access his computer, phone, files, or speak to contractors.”
Hargrove laughed once.
A small, ugly sound.
“You have no idea what you’re stepping into.”
There it was.
The warning behind the rank.
The threat behind the uniform.
I had heard that tone from Mercers before.
My former husband used it when I refused to attend his father’s donor dinner in uniform.
His father used it when I reported procurement irregularities instead of burying them.
You have no idea what you’re stepping into.
I always did.
I stepped anyway.
Hargrove was escorted out.
Nobody looked relieved yet.
Fear does not leave a room just because the loudest man does.
I faced the soldiers.
“Eat if you can. Report if you need medical attention. Anyone with information comes to Colonel Pierce or directly to my office.”
My eyes moved across their faces.
“You will not be punished for telling the truth.”
Some believed me.
Some wanted to.
Some had been trained by people like Hargrove not to believe anything until it survived contact with power.
Fair.
I had work to do.
At the hospital, the smell hit me first.
Disinfectant.
Coffee.
Burned dust from portable heaters brought in after the evacuation.
Twenty-six soldiers occupied beds and chairs in two wings.
Most were young.
Too young.
Private Willis lay asleep with an oxygen mask over his face.
A nurse told me his carbon monoxide levels had been dangerously high.
His bunk was closest to the faulty heating unit.
His mother had been called.
His mother.
That word rearranged the room.
People love to say soldiers are adults.
They are.
But someone still waits for their call.
Someone still remembers them as babies.
I stood beside Willis’s bed and felt rage settle into something colder.
Pierce handed me another file.
“Preliminary inspection shows the heating system should have been replaced two years ago.”
“Why wasn’t it?”
“Marked completed.”
“By Mercer Defense Housing?”
“Yes.”
“Paid?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
He hesitated.
“Eight point four million across three barracks renovation packages.”
I looked up.
“Eight million dollars for work that wasn’t done.”
“Appears so.”
A voice from the doorway said, “Appears is a dangerous word, Rebecca.”
I turned.
Brigadier General Thomas Vale stood there in a pressed uniform and polished shoes.
My superior.
My mentor once.
And a man who had played golf with William Mercer every spring for twenty years.
He looked at my stained uniform.
His mouth tightened.
“Rough lunch?”
I did not smile.
“Two soldiers are critical.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here talking about wording?”
His eyes sharpened.
“Because this has political sensitivity.”
There it was.
The second battlefield.
I lowered my voice.
“Soldiers were poisoned in their sleep.”
“And I intend to address that.”
“Quietly?”
“Correctly.”
I looked through the glass at Private Willis.
His chest rose under the mask.
Slow.
Fragile.
“There is no correct version of quiet if quiet protects the people who did this.”
Vale stepped closer.
“You’re emotional.”
That word.
I almost laughed.
May you like
Instead, I looked him in the eye.
“No. I’m awake.”
