I stood in the middle of my quiet apartment, looking at the white envelope on the coffee table.

The room smelled of her expensive perfume and wet wool.

I walked over to the desk and picked up my phone.

There were three missed calls from an unsaved number with an area code from Virginia.

I pressed the call button and held the phone to my ear.

It rang four times before a man’s voice answered, his breathing heavy and erratic.

“Grace?” the voice whispered.

It was Aaron Vale.

“Aaron,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Where are you?”

“I tried to talk to him,” Aaron said. “I tried to talk to the Colonel.”

“What happened?” I asked, my heart speeding up.

“He didn’t know,” Aaron said. “The Colonel didn’t know about the payouts to the families.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“They used his signature,” Aaron whispered. “His own daughter. He’s going crazy, Grace. He’s talking about going to the federal prosecutor.”

I gripped the phone tighter, looking toward the window.

“He’s going to testify?” I asked.