Chapter 3
Colonel Vance’s office smelled like leather and coffee.
His walls were covered in medals, framed certificates, and photographs of men shaking hands with men who looked important.
My father was not on those walls.
But he should have been.
Colonel Vance sat behind his desk.
Brock stood near the door with one hand still touching his cheek like he was protecting evidence.
Captain Reeves stood beside me.
Lowell waited in the corner, arms crossed.
No one offered me a chair.
Vance opened a file.
Mine.
“Maya Lee,” he said. “Transfer from Supply. No disciplinary record until today.”
“Sir, Sergeant Vance provoked me.”
Brock scoffed.
“My son says you struck him without cause.”
“My father says many things too,” I said before I could stop myself. “Only one of them is dead.”
The room went still.
Captain Reeves shifted.
Colonel Vance’s eyes lifted.
Cold.
“Watch your tone.”
I swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
He leaned back.
“Your father’s case was painful for everyone.”
“My father’s case was a lie.”
Brock laughed.
Lowell’s head turned sharply toward him.
Colonel Vance closed the file.
“You are emotionally compromised.”
“No, sir. I am telling the truth.”
“You struck a superior NCO.”
“After he mocked my dead father and blocked my path.”
Brock raised his voice.
“That never happened.”
Lowell finally spoke.
“I want hallway audio pulled.”
Colonel Vance looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
Lowell did not blink.
“There are cameras. Some have audio. If we’re disciplining Lee, we need the full record.”
For the first time, Colonel Vance looked irritated.
“Thank you, Staff Sergeant. I know procedure.”
Captain Reeves cleared her throat.
“I agree with Lowell, sir.”
Vance’s eyes moved to her.
“You agree.”
“Yes, sir. Specialist Lee has a right to evidence.”
Brock shifted by the door.
Tiny movement.
But I saw it.
So did Lowell.
Colonel Vance stood.
“I will review the matter.”
That meant no.
That meant buried.
That meant the same old machine closing its doors.
I left the office with my hands shaking.
Lowell caught up with me outside.
“Lee.”
I stopped.
He looked down the hall before speaking.
“What did Vance say on the mat?”
I hesitated.
Trust is expensive when your family has already paid too much for it.
Lowell’s voice softened.
“I heard enough to know I missed something.”
“He said my father should have stayed buried.”
Lowell’s jaw tightened.
“Damn it.”
“You knew my father?”
He looked away.
“I knew of him.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”
Before I could press, Captain Reeves approached.
“Lee, go home for the day.”
“I live in barracks.”
“Then go there. Do not talk to Brock. Do not post anything. Do not answer calls from command without representation.”
My stomach tightened.
“Representation?”
Reeves looked at Lowell.
Then back at me.
“Your father’s old investigation may not be as closed as people think.”
I froze.
“What does that mean?”
Lowell exhaled.
“It means your transfer here may not be random.”
Back in my barracks room, my phone rang.
My brother.
Eli.
I answered.
“Hey.”
His voice was tight.
“Are you alone?”
I sat up.
“Yes.”
“You need to leave base.”
“What?”
“Mom got a call.”
My blood went cold.
“From who?”
“No name. Male voice. He told her if her daughter keeps digging, the Lee family will lose another soldier.”
My heart started hammering.
“I’m not digging.”
“You’re breathing near the wrong people. That counts.”
I looked at my locked door.
For two years, my mother had kept Dad’s dress uniform in the hall closet.
She dusted the box every Sunday.
She still set coffee for him some mornings before remembering.
Now someone had called her.
Threatened her.
Because I slipped a kick on a training mat.
Eli said, “Maya, what happened today?”
I told him.
The mat.
The whisper.
The office.
Lowell.
Reeves.
Eli went quiet.
Then he said, “Dad left something.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Mom never told you because she was scared. He mailed me a drive two days before he died. I couldn’t open it. Military encryption. But last week, someone tried to break into my apartment.”
My mouth went dry.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I thought it was random. Now I don’t.”
A knock hit my door.
Three hard taps.
I whispered, “Someone’s here.”
Eli said, “Don’t open it.”
The knock came again.
“Maya Lee,” a voice called. “Open up.”
Brock.
I grabbed my phone tighter.
“Go away.”
His voice lowered.
“You should have stayed in Supply.”
Then an envelope slid under my door.
I waited until his footsteps faded.
Inside was a photo of my father’s grave.
May you like
Across it, in red marker, someone had written:
LIARS DON’T GET HEROES.
