I straightened the jacket of my Army service uniform and smoothed the fabric over my ribs.

My thumb went automatically to the small brass button on my right cuff, rubbing the polished metal until it felt warm against my skin.

A family pushing two carts piled high with blue hard-sided luggage brushed past us, the father arguing with a skycap about the tip.

I kept my feet planted on the gray terrazzo floor, holding a thick blue folder firmly against my hip.

Inside that folder were six printed pages of text message logs, the bank transfer receipt for nineteen thousand dollars, and the search warrant signed by the magistrate late the night before.