I didn’t raise my voice, and I didn’t look back down at the quitclaim deed on the workbench.

I gave the silver ring on my thumb one last turn, smiled at him quietly, and walked past his shoulder into the house.

Captain Morales squared the yellow legal pad with the edge of her metal desk, then laid two paper printouts side by side under the desk lamp.

“This is your signature from your reenlistment papers last November,” she said, tapping the left sheet with her pen.

“And this is the power of attorney filed at First National Bank.”