Elijah pulled out his own phone, scrolling to a number he rarely called. His daughter. Maya would be working late at her law office in Chicago. She always did. The phone rang three times before she answered.
Dad? Surprise colored her voice. It's almost midnight. Is everything okay? Maya, I need your help.
Professionally. A pause. What happened? He explained the situation. The airport confrontation, the suspicious hold, the increasing pressure from above.
His measured tone couldn't quite mask the urgency underneath. This isn't just about procedure anymore, he finished. Something's wrong here. And you're calling me? The words carried years of tension.
Usually, you just handle everything through proper channels. Maya, how many school plays and graduations did I hear that about? Proper channels, proper procedures. She took a breath. Sorry.
That wasn't fair. No, it was fair. Elijah's voice softened. I made choices. Duty came first too often.
But right now, there's a young soldier who deserves truth and a mother who deserves answers. Another pause, longer this time. Tell me everything again. Start with the exact timeline. While Elijah recounted details, Tonya quietly excused herself to check security feeds.
He described the airport incident, Voss's pressure, the irregularities he'd noticed. Maya asked sharp questions about documentation and witnesses. This is more than harassment, she said finally. The coordinated response suggests they're protecting something bigger. I'll book the first flight out.
Thank you. Dad. Her voice caught slightly. Be careful. If they're working this hard to control the narrative, they won't stop at paperwork.
After ending the call, Elijah pulled out Noah's file again. He'd been reviewing it between required coffin checks, and the gaps were becoming more apparent. Training accident reports usually contained extensive detail, equipment specifications, maintenance records, witness statements. This one felt sanitized. Key information missing or reduced to bare minimums.