“He knows we’ve traced the vehicle transfer.”

“He helped draft the transfer,” I said.

My phone buzzed twice against the wooden tabletop.

I drove straight to the Oakridge Military Reserve Depot and walked into the administration building at seven thirty.

Captain Samuel Holt sat behind his gray steel desk, going through a pile of legal papers held together with red fasteners.

He tapped his index finger on his clipboard as I walked up to his desk and came to attention.

“At ease, Madison,” Captain Holt said, laying the clipboard down on top of a certified mail receipt from the military legal division.