“This isn’t just about the garrison’s money,” I said.

My mother frowned, taking a hesitant step toward the table.

“What do you mean, Emily?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“This folder contains the digital trail of every email sent to your home computer over the last four years,” I said.

Claire’s face went suddenly pale, her angry expression faltering for a fraction of a second.

“It contains the original copies of the performance reviews that were sent anonymously to your address,” I continued.

My father crossed his arms, his brow furrowing deep.

“Those reviews came from the Department of the Army,” he said.

“They showed you were unstable, Emily. That you were unfit for command.”

“No, Father,” I said, opening the blue folder and laying the first page flat on the table.

“They came from an IP address registered to Andrew’s private office in this building.”

The paper was crisp, the black ink of the system logs standing out sharply against the white page.

“He used the garrison’s secure routing system to make them look official,” I said.