Chapter 3 - The Paper Trail
Thorne stood paralyzed behind his desk, his chest heaving as he stared at the silver oak leaves.
“This... this is a mistake,” Thorne stammered, his fingers twitching toward the desk phone. “Major Sterling didn't know—”
“It doesn't matter what he knew,” I interrupted, stepping closer and leaning over his desk. “A senior officer who assaults anyone—let alone an undercover IG investigator—has forfeited his command. Now, sit down and open the base ledger.”
Thorne didn't move. His eyes shifted toward the locked filing cabinet in the corner of his office. I followed his gaze. For twelve weeks, I had tracked missing supply shipments—night-vision goggles, tactical body armor, and fuel allocations—that were vanishing from Camp Vora’s manifests and reappearing on the black market in Eastern Europe. Sterling wasn't just a bully; he was running a multi-million-dollar criminal syndicate out of an active military installation.
“Keys,” I held out my hand.
“Colonel, please,” Thorne pleaded, his voice trembling now. “I was just following orders. Sterling controls everything here. If I crossed him, he threatened to ruin my family, frame me for—”
“The keys, Captain!” I commanded, using my full command voice.
Trembling, Thorne pulled a small brass key from his pocket and laid it on the desk.
I walked over to the heavy steel filing cabinet, inserted the key, and pulled open the top drawer. Inside were thick leather folders stamped RESTRICTED. I pulled out the top three files—off-book wire transfer receipts, falsified shipping manifests, and a list of offshore bank accounts registered under Sterling’s wife’s maiden name.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door to the office slammed open.
Major Sterling stepped into the room, his uniform slightly disheveled, his eyes wild with lingering rage. He had come to sign the detainment order, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me standing over his open safe, holding his private ledgers.
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“What the hell are you doing?!” Sterling roared, reaching for his sidearm holster. “Get away from those files!”
“Stand down, Major!” I turned to face him, holding up the IG badge. “Touch that holster, and you’ll be adding armed treason to your charge sheet.”
