Every soldier we passed looked away, their eyes dropping to the floor.

Word travels fast on a small base.

By the time we reached the basement level of the headquarters building, my hands were clammy.

The air in the basement smelled of damp concrete, ozone, and old paper.

Major Vance opened the heavy steel door to the interrogation room and gestured for me to enter.

There was a metal table, three plastic chairs, and a small digital recorder sitting in the center of the table.

“Sit, Captain,” Vance said.

I pulled out a metal chair and sat down, my spine straight, refusing to show the panic clawing at my chest.

The two MPs stood guard inside the closed door, their faces blank.

Vance sat opposite me and laid the manila folder on the table.

He flipped it open, revealing a stack of printed emails and system logs.

“The tip came in at midnight,” Vance said, tapping a document with his index finger.

“It was routed through the Department of Defense Inspector General’s hotline.”

“The whistleblower provided specific details about unauthorized access to the automated logistics database.”