He had kept records of every contractor he squeezed for bribes.

He had kept copies of the sensitive logistics reports he sold to private security firms.

He had even kept draft copies of the blackmail letters he sent to junior officers who caught him.

My sister Claire called me on Saturday night.

I answered on the third ring.

“How could you do this to us?” she screamed into the phone.

Her voice was thin and ragged.

“Andrew was trying to build a future for us,” she said.

“He was stealing, Claire,” I said.

“He was putting soldiers’ lives at risk.”

“You always hated him,” she spat.

“You were always jealous because he got the promotions you wanted.”

“That is not true,” I said.

“And you know it.”

“You ruined my life, Emily,” she said.

“Mom and Dad are devastated.”

“They are staying at a hotel in town.”

“They won’t even look at the television.”

“They should look at the evidence,” I said.

“I didn’t write those ledgers, Claire. Andrew did.”

She slammed the phone down.

The dial tone hummed in my ear.

***