The words swam in the blue light of the screen, but the meaning was clear.

“The steering assemblies on the armored transport vehicles,” I whispered.

“They knew they were failing during the initial field trials in Georgia,” Aaron said. “They knew the steel alloy was brittle under high temperatures.”

“But they approved the contract anyway,” I said, the realization settling heavy in my chest. “They signed off on the safety certifications.”

“Look at the delivery schedule,” Aaron said, scrolling down the page.

The table showed hundreds of units shipped to active deployment zones in Eastern Europe and the Middle East over the last three years.

And the shipments were still ongoing.

“This is the same contract my father helped secure before he retired,” I said.

“Yes,” Aaron said. “And the faulty parts are still in the field today.”

A sharp snap of a dry branch sounded from the woods just twenty yards to our left.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

The flashlight beam swept across the concrete wall of the pump house, just inches above our car’s roofline.