I found my name on a transfer packet in my father’s office. I knew immediately something wasn’t right. By the time police arrived, everything had changed.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

The words didn’t make sense. They couldn’t make sense.

My personnel file didn’t exist before I enlisted. I had signed the paperwork at eighteen.

General Hale turned his phone toward me, and I saw a scan of a yellowish folder. The edges were worn. The paper looked older than I was.