Chapter 3
By 1600 hours, my ruined uniform had been bagged as evidence.
Not because of the gravy.
Because witnesses insisted Hargrove had assaulted me.
I changed into a clean one in the visiting officers’ quarters and stared at myself in the mirror.
Two stars.
Sharp collar.
No visible sauce.
No visible humiliation.
That was the trick of uniforms.
They could make people think damage disappeared when fabric changed.
It didn’t.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Then a message.
Rebecca, don’t turn a maintenance issue into a family war.
No signature.
It did not need one.
William Mercer had always believed names were for people without influence.
I showed Pierce.
His face darkened.
“Senator Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“You think he knows already?”
“I think he knew before I did.”
We went to the command office.
Hargrove sat in the outer conference room with a legal officer, arms folded, jaw hard.
He no longer looked afraid.
That worried me more.
Fear makes mistakes.
Confidence means backup.
I entered the evidence room with Pierce and Chief Warrant Officer Dana Ruiz, the best logistics investigator I had ever known.
Ruiz had a mind like a locked blade.
If a number was wrong, she could smell it from three files away.
She already had twelve folders open.
“General,” she said, “this is bad.”
“Define bad.”
She pushed a report toward me.
“Building 14’s heating system was not replaced. It was repainted. Filters swapped. Warning stickers removed. Sensors disabled.”
My stomach turned.
“Disabled?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“By accident?”
Ruiz looked offended.
“No.”
Pierce asked, “Who signed off?”
“Hargrove signed acceptance. Mercer Defense Housing invoiced completion. Base finance approved payment.”
I scanned the names.
My finger stopped on one.
“Captain Lyle.”
Pierce looked over.
“Finance officer.”
“Where is he?”
“On leave.”
Ruiz’s face hardened.
“Emergency leave filed this morning. Three hours before the soldiers were transported.”
Of course.
I turned to Pierce.
“Find him.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ruiz tapped another page.
“There’s more. Complaints were filed by soldiers in Building 14 for headaches, dizziness, odor, and faulty detectors.”
“How many?”
“Thirty-seven.”
Pierce swore under his breath.
“What happened to them?”
“Closed as duplicate maintenance requests. Some soldiers were marked for counseling for ‘exaggerated facility grievances.’”
I felt my hands curl.
“By Hargrove?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A knock came.
Lieutenant Aaron Mills entered.
The young officer from the dining hall.
His face was tense.
“General Kane, I was told to report.”
I studied him.
“You recognized me before I showed rank.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why?”
He swallowed.
“My sister served under you at Fort Drum. Captain Elise Mills.”
I remembered.
“Elise Mills saved three medics during the flood response.”
His face flickered with pride.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What do you know, Lieutenant?”
His jaw tightened.
“Major Hargrove ordered me last month to discard soldier complaint logs before an external readiness review.”
Pierce went still.
Ruiz stopped writing.
I asked, “Did you?”
“No, ma’am.”
He pulled a small drive from his pocket.
“I copied them.”
The room held its breath.
“Why didn’t you report immediately?”
His shame was visible.
“Because Hargrove said he would destroy my career. And because Colonel Ames told me to let facilities handle facilities.”
Pierce muttered, “Ames commands north sector.”
I nodded.
The circle widened.
“Lieutenant Mills,” I said, “you are now a protected witness in an active investigation.”
His shoulders dropped.
Not relief exactly.
The first inch of it.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Before we could open the drive, my phone rang.
This time, the caller ID displayed a name.
Evan Mercer.
My ex-husband.
For seven years, he had not called me once.
Not on my birthday.
Not when I made major general.
Not when his father publicly mocked “career women who abandon family values.”
Now he called twice in a row.
I answered on speaker.
“Evan.”
His voice was tight.
“Rebecca, you need to slow down.”
I looked at Pierce.
He started recording.
“Hello to you too.”
“My father says you’re trying to connect him to some barracks issue.”
“Some barracks issue put soldiers in the hospital.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Evan. I really don’t.”
He exhaled sharply.
“This could ruin people.”
I looked at Willis’s medical report.
“It already did.”
“Rebecca, please. Don’t make this personal.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
The old accusation.
If I fought corruption, I was bitter.
If I demanded accountability, I was emotional.
If I refused to protect the Mercer name, I was making it personal.
I opened my eyes.
“Evan, your father’s company took millions for repairs that were not done. Your friend Hargrove signed off. Soldiers were poisoned.”
Silence.
Then he whispered, “Hargrove called me.”
My blood went cold.
“When?”
“This morning. Before lunch.”
“What did he say?”
Evan hesitated.
“Rebecca…”
“Say it.”
“He said if you got involved, we should remind you what happened to your brother.”
The room went utterly still.
My brother, Michael.
Dead twelve years.
Officially a training accident.
Unofficially, the wound in my family that never healed.
My voice dropped.
May you like
“What does Hargrove know about my brother?”
Evan whispered, “I think you need to ask my father.”
