At 6:20 the following morning, Colonel Carter arrived at the installation earlier than usual.
She had barely slept.
The discovery that a retired officer's account had been accessed from the command office raised a disturbing possibility.
Someone inside the installation's administrative structure was helping conceal the questionable approvals.
She entered her office and immediately contacted Captain Miller.
"Have you identified the terminal?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Whose workstation?"
"The workstation assigned to the deputy command administrator."
Evelyn paused.
"Who currently uses it?"
"Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Collins."
She recognized the name.
Collins had been serving as deputy command administrator for nearly three years. He was responsible for coordinating official communications, managing certain administrative records, and supporting the installation's senior command staff.
He had also attended the welcome briefing when Evelyn first arrived.
"Has he been notified?"
"No, ma'am. We preserved the relevant electronic evidence before contacting him."
"Good. Keep the investigation confidential."
"Understood."
Evelyn ended the call.
At 7:00 a.m., she requested a meeting with Collins.
He arrived twenty minutes later, wearing a dark uniform and carrying a tablet.
"Good morning, Colonel."
"Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel. Please sit."
Collins took the chair.
"What can I do for you?"
Evelyn opened a document.
"An account belonging to a retired senior officer was recently used to access aircraft maintenance records."
Collins nodded.
"I heard about the investigation."
"The access originated from the command administration office."
He raised his eyebrows.
"That's concerning."
"Yes."
Evelyn turned the laptop toward him.
"Do you recognize this workstation identification?"
Collins examined it.
"That appears to be the terminal assigned to my office."
"Was it used by anyone else?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Did you access aircraft 611's records last week?"
"No."
"Did you provide your credentials to another employee?"
"Certainly not."
Evelyn nodded.
"Thank you. We'll need your cooperation with the technical review."
"Of course."
Collins stood.
Then he paused.
"Colonel, may I offer some advice?"
"Go ahead."
"Major Whitaker has been under considerable pressure. The installation has experienced several difficult months. I would hate to see a long-serving officer's career destroyed over administrative confusion."
Evelyn looked at him.
"Administrative confusion is precisely what we are investigating."
Collins gave a polite smile.
"Naturally."
He left.
Evelyn watched the door close.
Something about his response bothered her.
Not because he had defended Whitaker.
But because he seemed unusually eager to minimize the significance of the investigation before she had even explained the evidence.
At 9:10 a.m., the independent review team discovered another discrepancy.
A maintenance document associated with aircraft 742 had been accessed and modified shortly after the preservation request was issued.
The modification did not change the technical information.
It changed the approval history.
Someone had attempted to remove an earlier administrative reference.
The investigators immediately secured the system.
Evelyn was informed within minutes.
"Who accessed it?" she asked.
Captain Miller answered.
"The account belongs to Sergeant Reed."
"Where is he?"
"Hangar 17."
Evelyn stood.
"Let's go."
She arrived at the hangar with Daniel and two investigative officers.
Reed was standing beside the maintenance station, speaking with a technician.
When he saw her approaching, he immediately straightened.
"Colonel."
"Sergeant."
She looked at the investigative officer.
"Please explain what was discovered."
The officer opened a tablet.
"At 0836, a user account associated with Sergeant Reed accessed the aircraft 742 maintenance record. The approval history was modified approximately four minutes later."
Reed frowned.
"I didn't modify anything."
"Your account was used."
"Then someone else used it."
"Where were you at 0836?"
Reed glanced toward the hangar entrance.
"I was here."
"Can anyone confirm that?"
"Several people."
Evelyn looked at him.
"Then we'll document their statements."
Reed folded his arms.
"Colonel, this is becoming ridiculous. You're treating every administrative update like evidence of a crime."
Evelyn stepped closer.
"Sergeant, the preservation order was issued specifically to prevent changes to original records."
"I didn't change the technical information."
"You changed the approval history."
"I didn't do that."
"Then explain how your account was used."
Reed's expression tightened.
"I don't know."
Evelyn nodded.
"That answer will be included in the report."
She turned toward the investigators.
"Preserve the workstation access history and all available security footage."
"Yes, ma'am."
Reed watched them leave.
Then he turned toward Evelyn.
"Can I speak with you privately?"
"No. If you have information relevant to the investigation, provide it through the appropriate channel."
His voice became quieter.
"Colonel, I think someone is trying to frame me."
Evelyn studied him.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Do you have evidence?"
"Not yet."
"Then I suggest you find it."
She began walking away.
Reed followed her for several steps.
"Colonel!"
She stopped.
"What?"
He looked around to make sure nobody was listening.
"Major Whitaker isn't telling you everything."
Evelyn turned.
"Go on."
"He has been communicating with someone outside the installation."
"Who?"
"I don't know his full name."
"Where did they meet?"
"An office near the airfield. Sometimes outside the base."
"Do you have documentation?"
Reed hesitated.
"I have something."
"What?"
"A notebook."
Evelyn remained still.
"Where is it?"
Reed looked toward the maintenance station.
"I can provide it."
"Then submit it through the investigative office. Do not remove, alter, or destroy anything."
He nodded.
For the first time, his expression showed genuine fear.
That afternoon, the notebook was delivered to Captain Miller under formal evidence procedures.
It contained the aircraft numbers, inspection dates, and initials Michael Hayes had described.
But there was something else.
Several entries referenced payments.
The amounts were relatively small, and the descriptions were vague.
However, the initials beside them matched the names of two civilian contractors who had supplied maintenance components to the installation.
Evelyn examined the entries.
"Why would a military police sergeant be recording contractor payments?"
Captain Miller shook his head.
"We don't know yet."
"Could they be legitimate reimbursements?"
"Possibly. We need financial and procurement records before drawing conclusions."
Evelyn looked at the notebook again.
One entry contained a date, a contractor reference, and the words:
Priority replacement β 611.
She looked up.
"Find the original procurement request."
"Yes, ma'am."
As the investigators began reviewing the document, Daniel noticed something written on the final page.
A name.
ANDREW COLLINS.
He pointed to it.
"Colonel."
Evelyn leaned forward.
The entry appeared beside a short handwritten note:
Command access confirmed.
She stared at the words.
Lieutenant Colonel Collins.
The same officer who had denied accessing the records.
The same officer whose workstation had been used to access a retired commander's account.
Evelyn closed the notebook.
"Captain Miller, I want an immediate review of Collins's access privileges."
"Understood."
"And I want his official statements preserved."
Daniel looked at her.
"Ma'am, do you think he's involved?"
Evelyn looked toward the hangar.
"I think we've found a reason to ask him some very difficult questions."
But before she could say anything else, the command office phone rang.
It was Collins.
"Colonel Carter, I need to speak with you immediately."
"What about?"
His voice sounded tense.
"It's about Sergeant Reed."
Evelyn paused.
"What happened?"
"He's just entered the command building carrying a document. He says he has evidence that someone inside your office has been altering the maintenance records."
Evelyn looked at Daniel.
The investigation had just turned in an unexpected direction.