Chapter 4 - THE SHADOW OF FORT DRUMI stood in the cold subterranean darkness of the barn cellar, my flashlight beam reflecting off the matte-black metal of the tactical communication crates.
My breath hitched.
Seven years ago, while I was serving in Iraq, Brandon was serving a brief stint in the Army Reserve at Fort Drum before being quietly pushed out. The official story our mother told the town was that Brandon had left with an honorable medical discharge due to a knee injury.
It was all a lie.
Brandon hadn't been discharged for a bad knee. He had been investigated by Army CID (Criminal Investigation Division) for stealing night-vision optics and secure satellite communication hardware from the depot. But back then, the evidence had miraculously disappeared before charges could be filed, leaving the military with no choice but to discharge him quietly due to "administrative incompatibility."
Now, looking at the serial numbers stamped into the steel frames resting in my grandfather's cellar, the terrifying puzzle finally slotted together.
Brandon hadn't stopped stealing. He had used his clearance before his discharge to divert military hardware shipments through a civilian freight handler in Chicago, transporting the stolen government property directly to Iowa.
And to make sure he was never caught, he had forged my signature on the transport manifests using my deployment orders. If the Department of Defense ever tracked those crates down, the paper trail wouldn't lead to Brandon.
It would lead straight to Sergeant Natalie Carter.
"You always were too smart for your own good, Nat," a voice echoed from the top of the trapdoor.
May you like
I whipped around, shining my flashlight upward.
Standing at the edge of the trapdoor, silhouetted against the dim light of the barn, was Brandon’s high-priced attorney, Mr. Henderson—holding a sleek, silenced semi-automatic pistol trained directly on my chest.
