Or had he?

We reached the bottom of the stairs, where a heavy vault door stood slightly ajar.

Miller slipped through the gap, and I followed him into a small, windowless office.

A single green-screen terminal sat on a desk in the corner, humming softly.

This was the heart of the military’s legacy records.

“Sit,” I said, pointing to the chair.

Miller sat down, his fingers hovering over the mechanical keyboard.

“Search for the July 12, 2019 transaction logs,” I instructed.

“If the ledger was altered, the digital hash won’t match the master file,” he said.

He began to type, the loud clacking of the keys filling the small room.

I watched the screen as green lines of code scrolled upward.

My phone buzzed again in my pocket.

I pulled it out and looked at the screen.

The text was from an unknown number.

*You are looking in the wrong place for the truth.*

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the glass.

“Miller, hurry,” I said.

“I’m running the verification sequence now,” he said.

A progress bar appeared on the screen, slowly filling with green blocks.