“He used your incoming General status to lock in the capital,” Arthur said.

“The federal underwriters saw a senior military officer with a perfect record and approved the first phase on the spot.”

I ran my finger along the forged signature at the bottom of the page.

The five-thousand-dollar cashier’s check wasn’t an apology.

It was a tiny slice of the stolen federal money, handed over just to keep me quiet.

“He never cared about the hardware store,” Arthur said.

“You’re the collateral.”