Chapter 7 - PAGE FOUR
Police treated the flower message as possible indirect contact.
Gregory denied sending it.
The florist order came through a prepaid card.
No useful camera image.
Could be him.
Charles.
Someone else.
Page four mattered enough to frighten somebody.
The photocopied report under Rachel’s door included pages one through three and five through seven.
Page four originally contained the detailed equipment observation.
I remembered because I wrote it by hand before typing the final version.
Door release required repeated external force after internal latch failed to disengage.
Survivor reports two prior sticking events in noncombat conditions.
Recommend retention of vehicle and independent mechanical examination before disposal.
That was the substance.
I did not remember every word.
Rachel warned me never to overstate memory.
The military records office produced the official archived copy.
Page four was there.
It did not say what I remembered.
Internal latch temporarily obstructed by blast deformation and debris.
No known prior malfunction reported by crew.
Vehicle condition unsuitable for further meaningful examination.
My name appeared beneath the report.
Digital signature.
“Did you sign this version?” Rachel asked.
“I signed a report.”
“That isn’t my question.”
“I don’t know.”
There.
The answer I hated.
After the convoy attack, documents moved through revisions.
Supervisors suggested phrasing.
I made edits.
Others made edits.
The final packet might have included language I did not notice while exhausted.
Or someone might have altered it.
My certainty had limits.
Thomas Mercer produced Miriam’s copy.
Her page four matched my memory.
Not exactly.
Close.
Her version said:
Vehicle operator reports recurrent pre-event latch resistance.
Recommend engineering preservation hold.
Two versions existed.
Which was original?
Federal forensic analysts would decide.
Thomas explained why Miriam kept pushing.
A later unit reported a similar latch failure during a rollover.
No fatalities.
Hartman engineers blamed maintenance again.
Then another.
Then a training accident stateside.
The pattern was still disputed.
Charles called the concerns anecdotal.
Miriam called them signal.
Years passed.
A federal procurement inspector named Daniel Ruiz reopened the file after a whistleblower delivered internal Hartman test data.
Ruiz scheduled interviews with surviving service members.
Including me.
I had not received notice because the subpoena had not yet been served.
Charles apparently knew before I did.
“How?” I asked.
Thomas answered:
“Hartman’s lawyers are cooperating with the inquiry.”
Or monitoring it.
The declaration in Gregory’s suitcase would have been useful.
A sworn statement from me saying blast stress distorted my recollection.
Signed on my wedding night.
Witnessed perhaps by my husband.
It would not erase engineering evidence.
It could weaken the most emotionally powerful witness.
Me.
I still did not know why my testimony mattered enough to justify marriage.
There had to be more.
Thomas agreed.
“Miriam’s note said Charles feared one specific thing.”
“What?”
“She didn’t put it in writing.”
“Convenient.”
“She was dying.”
I regretted the word instantly.
Thomas did not punish me.
“She was trying to decide which secrets belonged to you.”
“I’m tired of dead people making that decision.”
“So was she.”
We opened the Virginia storage unit through law enforcement coordination.
Not alone.
Inside were old military papers, photographs, and a ruggedized external drive.
The drive required encryption.
A label read:
MAY 14 — RAW.
Federal agents took custody.
Charles Hartman filed an emergency motion claiming the drive contained stolen proprietary defense data.
May you like
That told us something.
He knew what was inside before anyone opened it.
