Martinez had been hospitalized for severe decompression sickness following a training dive in Key West.

The official report stated Martinez had ignored his dive computer’s ascent rate.

The private statement from the diving medical technician told a different story.

Nathan had ordered Martinez to perform a rapid ascent to retrieve a dropped piece of equipment.

When Martinez hesitated, Nathan threatened to bust him down in rank.

Martinez complied, suffered an arterial gas embolism, and was permanently disqualified from diving.

Nathan’s official review made no mention of the order.

He had blamed the junior sailor entirely.

I looked at the signature on the bottom of Martinez’s disciplinary file.

It was Nathan’s digital stamp, approved by his command.

I felt a cold anger settling deep in my chest.

My sister Caroline was planning a lavish wedding in Annapolis.

She had spent the last three months bragging about Nathan’s upcoming assignment to the Joint Staff at the Pentagon.

“He’s going places, Evelyn,” she had said at dinner last week. “He’s not like you, hiding behind a desk in some windowless basement.”