When Linda spoke again, her voice had changed completely. It became old. Tired. Almost stripped of performance.
“He was supposed to have a better life.”
“By stealing a dead child’s identity?”
“He was a child too.”
“And now?”
“Now he is all I have left.”
There it was. Not remorse. Not apology. Possession.
Ryan was not a son to her. He was an artifact. A life she had reshaped to fill a grave.
“Linda,” I said, “who helped you?”
She said nothing.
“Who prepared the documents?”
Still nothing.
“Who told Ryan to come to this base with forged credentials?”
A soft click sounded on the line.
She had hung up.
A minute later, Alvarez returned.
“Call was routed through a civilian number registered to a prepaid device,” he said. “Security is preserving the log.”
“Of course it was.”
“Ma’am.” He hesitated. “CID wants to speak with you. The general has also been informed.”
I gathered the court record, the financial reports, and the forged copies into one folder.
“Then let’s not keep anyone waiting.”
