“That is internal department business, Evelyn,” he said, closing the folder with a sharp snap. “You have no business handling these files.”

“I have every business handling them when they concern the safety of transport vessels under my purview,” I said.

He took a half-step back, his boots squeaking on the wet wood of the pier.

“Your purview?” he repeated, a faint, nervous chuckle escaping him. “You work in administration. You’re a glorified paper pusher in the district office.”

I kept my face entirely still, letting the silence stretch between us.

The wind swept a spray of cold drizzle across my cheek.

“The signature on the third page is yours, Nathan,” I said. “You signed off on the readiness reports for the logistics unit in Norfolk.”

He looked down at the folder in his hand, then back up at me, his eyes darting to the car waiting at the curb.

“The equipment was functional,” he said.

“The seals on the hydraulic lines were dry-rotted,” I said. “The pressure tests were never conducted.”