A new voice, cold and familiar, spoke through the speaker.

“Captain Brooks, this is General Vance. Do you copy?”

I stared at the name in the ledger, the blood freezing in my veins as the voice on the radio repeated my name.

The conspiracy was much larger than a logistics scheme, and the man on the radio was the one who had sent us here.

“Captain Brooks, report,” General Vance’s voice repeated, sharper this time.

The speaker crackled with static, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the private security office.

Beside me, my father lay motionless on the Persian rug, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven gasps.

The medics were still working on him, their hands moving with frantic precision under the harsh glare of the desk lamp.

I felt Hayes shift behind me.

He was leaning against the heavy filing cabinet, his breathing heavy but controlled.

He thought I was distracted by the radio.

He thought the name in the ledger had paralyzed me.

I saw his hand slide slowly toward his waistband in the reflection of the glass-fronted cabinet.