Harlan turned sharply.
“Did anybody ask you?”
Betty’s face changed.
Evan entered a moment later carrying the leather portfolio.
Harlan pointed toward the second holding cell.
“Put him in there.”
Evan processed Julian’s wallet, phone, watch, and keys into a property tray.
The paperwork was incomplete.
Julian noticed.
He noticed everything.
That did not mean he reacted to everything.
The cell door closed.
Across the booking area, Harlan dropped the portfolio onto his desk.
Then he began taking documents out one by one.
The discharge record.
Professional certifications.
Contractor papers.
Travel authorization.
Military identification.
Harlan held up the discharge document.
“Bronze Star.”
He laughed.
“Purple Heart.”
Another laugh.
“You print this stuff at home?”
Julian leaned against the wall.
“No.”
Harlan looked at the page.
“You think I’m stupid?”
Julian thought before answering.
“I think you should verify what you’re holding before you do something you can’t undo.”
Evan stood near the coffee machine.
“Sheriff.”
“What?”
“I can call Army personnel verification.”
Harlan ignored him.
Julian said, “That would be reasonable.”
“Nobody asked you.”
Harlan opened the top drawer of his desk.
He removed an old silver lighter.
Julian’s attention sharpened.
Evan saw it too.
“Sheriff.”
Harlan flicked the lighter open.
The flame jumped.
Evan stepped toward him.
“Don’t.”
Harlan looked over.
“You giving me orders now?”
“It’s evidence.”
That was the first time Evan’s voice sounded certain.
Harlan smiled.
“Evidence of fraud.”
“Exactly.”
Evan pointed toward the page.
“So keep it.”
Harlan’s smile disappeared.
Julian stepped closer to the cell door.
“He’s right.”
Harlan lit the corner.
The page caught quickly.
Julian stared at the fire.
He knew the truth logically.
The Army had records.
The Department of Veterans Affairs had records.
A certified discharge document could be replaced.
Burning one piece of paper did not erase thirteen years.
Still, something inside him tightened.
That page had been handed to Julian after the strangest day of his adult life.
One life had ended.
Another had begun.
He remembered standing beneath cold fluorescent lights at Fort Liberty while an administrative specialist handed him a folder and told him to check the spelling of his name one last time. He remembered stepping outside afterward and realizing nobody would be calling to tell him where to report the next morning.
Harlan held that piece of his life over a trash can.
The flame crawled upward.
When it reached his fingers, he dropped it.
Gray edges curled inward.
Evan stared at him.
“Sheriff.”
Harlan reached for another document.
Julian’s voice became harder.
“Those are contractor-access papers issued for a controlled facility.”
Harlan looked toward him.
“You said that already.”
“They are not classified operational plans.”
Julian kept the distinction clear.
“But they are government-controlled documents, and I have now warned you twice.”
Harlan raised the lighter.
“If they’re fake, nobody cares.”
“If you think they’re fake, preserve them.”
Julian stared at him.