The Judge Advocate General’s Corps.
The room shifted.
Justin stared at the seal, confusion creeping into his expression.
I slid the envelope back into my pocket and pulled out the USB drive.
“This,” I said, “is evidence.”
I crossed the room to the media console and plugged it into the laptop without waiting for permission. My hands moved steadily. No shaking. No hesitation.
“You all assumed Andrew was weak,” I said. “But he was a soldier. He planned.”
The screen flickered.
Security footage filled the wall-mounted display.
The timestamp glowed in the corner.
October twenty-eighth. Late evening.
Samantha’s voice came through the speakers, clear and sharp.
The color drained from her face.
Mark took a step backward.
Harold’s chair scraped loudly as he lurched to his feet.
“No,” Samantha whispered.
On screen, she leaned across this very desk.
“We need this done before the quarter ends.”
Mark nodded.
“I switched the medication.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Justin staggered back, gripping the arm of a chair.
Harold’s voice followed on the recording, calm, clinical.
“I’ll handle the paperwork.”
The video froze.
Silence slammed down like a pressure wave.
A glass slipped from Mark’s fingers and shattered on the floor.
I turned slowly.
“This is no longer a family matter,” I said. “It’s evidence.”
Outside, faint but unmistakable, sirens began to rise.
Samantha backed toward the wall, shaking her head violently.
“You think you’ve won,” she hissed. “You think this makes you powerful.”
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