It was his handwriting below the typed text, small and precise, the ink a dark blue.

“I have confirmed that Major Cole Harrington and Captain Vanessa Cross fabricated the shipping manifests to cover the loss of thirty-two shoulder-fired missiles.”

“When confronted, Major Harrington threatened to expose unrelated administrative discrepancies in my command if I proceeded with a formal inquiry.”

“I will present these findings to the Inspector General on July 19, 2018.”

He never made that appointment.

He died on July 17, his car leaving the wet asphalt of the Clara Barton Parkway at three in the morning.

The police report had called it accidental death due to fatigue.

I looked down at the diary in my lap, the leather cover smelling of mold and old glue.

I turned the page.

The next sheet was a photocopy of a manifest, showing Cole’s real signature next to a forged version of my father’s name.

The differences were clear to anyone trained in document analysis, which I was.

My father had circled the slight tremor in the counterfeit ‘V’ in Vale.