I scanned the first page.

*Logistics Manifest, November 14th,* it began.

My eyes skipped down the rows of dates and military supply codes.

*Richards Logistics took delivery of forty containers of surplus communications gear at Port of Oakland,* a note read.

*Manifest states cargo was scrapped,* the note continued.

*Satellite imagery shows offloading at private warehouse in Richmond. Gregory authorized the transfer personally.*

My heart hammered against my ribs.

“This is it,” I whispered. “This is the paper trail Gregory spent twenty years trying to destroy.”

“He doesn’t know it’s here,” Eleanor said. “He thinks your father burned everything before the accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” I said, staring at the pages.

“I know,” Eleanor said quietly. “We have to go, Natalie. If Gregory’s security team checks the perimeter—”

“We’re leaving,” I said.

I slipped the journal into the inner pocket of my uniform jacket and zipped it shut.

The weight of it felt solid against my chest.

Suddenly, the high-pitched beep of the security keypad at the front door echoed down the hallway.

The sound of the heavy oak front door opening drifted into the library.