Chapter 4 - The Classified Files on Mom's Phone
The hum of the fluorescent light seemed to grow louder, filling the sudden, heavy silence in the interrogation room. I stared across the table at Agent Vance, my mind struggling to process the implications of his words.
"Classified deployment schedules?" I repeated, my voice barely a whisper. "My mother doesn't even know how to check her own email without help. How on earth would she get her hands on active-duty movement manifests?"
Commander Grant exchanged a grim, knowing look with Agent Vance before sliding a second manila folder across the scarred metal table. "That's exactly what we've spent the last four hours trying to figure out, Petty Officer Vance. When NCIS cyber forensics mirrored your mother's smartphone during her detainment, they didn't just find your residential address and gate codes. They found an encrypted PGP-secured folder containing operational itineraries, medical supply manifests, and departure timetables for the upcoming humanitarian relief deployment to the Mediterranean."
I flipped open the folder with my good hand. Inside were high-resolution screenshots of secure intranet databases—systems that required multi-factor authentication, a Common Access Card (CAC), and a high-level security clearance just to view.
"This is restricted-access data," I breathed, tracing my finger over the printed headers. "Even as a Navy medic with a Secret clearance, I can only pull up my own unit's rotation details. How did she—a civilian homemaker with zero military background—get screenshots of operational logistics?"
"She didn't hack it herself," Vance stated, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Our cyber team traced the initial data dump back to an external IP address pinging from a civilian router in downtown Norfolk. But the credentials used to log into the secure intranet portal belonged to someone currently stationed right here at the naval base."
A cold dread pooled in the pit of my stomach. "Who?"
"Master Chief Petty Officer Donald Vance—no relation to me," the agent said grimly. "He's the head of logistics supply for your specific medical command. And coincidentally, he's been acquaintances with your stepfather, Richard, for over ten years through local veterans' social clubs."
The puzzle pieces began clicking together in my head with horrifying clarity. Richard wasn't just a violent, abusive drunk acting on a sudden drunken impulse. This entire break-in had been planned. They had targeted me for a specific reason, using military access and classified information as leverage.
"What were they planning to do with my unit's deployment schedule?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and fury. "Why would Richard and my mother care when my medical unit ships out?"
"That's the million-dollar question," Commander Grant said, standing up and pacing toward the narrow observation window. "Master Chief Vance was picked up for questioning an hour ago at his quarters on base. At first, he denied knowing anything about your mother or the data leak. But when our investigators showed him the financial wire transfers moving from Richard's construction business account directly into an offshore cryptocurrency wallet belonging to the Master Chief's brother... his story changed very quickly."
"Bribes," I said bitterly. "Richard paid him off."
"He paid him a substantial sum," Grant confirmed, turning back to face us. "And according to Master Chief Vance's preliminary statement, Richard wasn't just interested in your deployment schedule because he wanted to harass you. He claimed that you were holding onto something valuable—something belonging to the family estate—that he needed before your ship left port."
I stared at him, utterly baffled. "Family estate? We grew up in a run-down trailer park in rural West Virginia! There is no estate! There's nothing of value in my entire life except my uniform and my service ribbons!"
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"Maybe not an estate in the traditional sense," Agent Vance murmured thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "Tell me, Olivia... did your mother or Richard ever ask you about your late grandfather's old military trunk? The one you packed up and brought with you when you left home three years ago?"
My breath caught in my throat. The wooden trunk. The one sitting quietly in the corner of my bedroom closet, filled with yellowed letters, old medals from the Vietnam War, and a bundle of faded legal documents I had never bothered to read.
