Chapter 2 - SEVEN COMPLAINTSBrandon followed me below deck like a man trying to outrun his own shadow.
“Rebecca.”
I kept walking.
“Rebecca, wait.”
Commander Mercer glanced at him but said nothing.
Brandon lowered his voice.
“You’re seriously going to do this?”
I stopped in the passageway.
Two sailors behind us nearly collided trying to halt.
“Do what?”
He looked around.
“This. In front of everyone.”
“You mean conduct an inspection?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Brandon. I don’t.”
His jaw tightened.
For a few seconds, the expression on his face was so familiar that I was thirteen again, standing outside Dad’s garage while Brandon blamed me for breaking a window he had shattered with a baseball.
He expected me to absorb the damage.
Because I always had.
“I’m your brother,” he said.
“That sentence is not the shield you think it is.”
Mercer’s eyes flicked toward me.
Brandon noticed.
His face reddened.
“This is a family matter.”
“No. The moment your name appeared on official complaints, it stopped being one.”
He looked at Mercer.
“Can we have some privacy?”
“No.”
That single word hit harder than shouting would have.
We entered the wardroom, where Captain Marcus Ellison and several department heads were waiting.
Captain Ellison was fifty-two, with tired eyes and the posture of a man carrying too much responsibility. He stepped forward immediately.
“Admiral Hale.”
“Captain.”
He shook my hand.
His gaze moved briefly toward Brandon.
Something passed across his face.
Concern.
Not surprise.
That bothered me.
“Captain,” I said, “how long have you known about the complaints concerning Petty Officer Hale?”
Brandon’s head snapped toward him.
Ellison hesitated.
“Admiral—”
“How long?”
“Approximately four months.”
Four months.
I set the folder on the table.
“And what action was taken?”
“Preliminary counseling.”
“Seven complaints resulted in counseling?”
Ellison’s mouth tightened.
“The circumstances were complicated.”
Brandon jumped in.
“Because half of those complaints are garbage.”
I turned toward him.
“You were not asked.”
His face flushed again.
The room went still.
Captain Ellison continued.
“Several complainants later modified or withdrew portions of their statements.”
“Voluntarily?”
Another pause.
“I believed so.”
Mercer opened another folder.
“We have evidence suggesting otherwise.”
Brandon stared at him.
“What evidence?”
Mercer placed photocopies on the table.
Messages.
I read the first.
DON’T RUIN YOUR CAREER OVER SOMETHING THIS SMALL.
The second:
PEOPLE WHO MAKE TROUBLE DON’T GET GOOD EVALS.
The third was more direct.
WITHDRAW IT.
The sender’s number had already been verified.
Brandon Hale.
My brother laughed, but the sound was strained.
“That isn’t intimidation.”
“No?” I asked.
“It’s leadership.”
Captain Ellison looked down.
I studied Brandon.
“What do you think leadership means?”
He stared back.
“Getting the job done.”
“At any cost?”
“Ships don’t run on feelings.”
“Neither do they run on falsified records.”
His face changed.
Just slightly.
But I saw it.
So did Mercer.
Brandon pointed at the folder.
“I never falsified anything.”
“You haven’t seen what’s in here.”
“Because there’s nothing to see.”
Commander Mercer slid one document toward him.
Brandon’s eyes dropped to the page.
For the first time that morning, real fear appeared.
It was a maintenance certification.
A critical fire-suppression inspection.
Signed.
Completed.
Cleared.
Except according to the digital equipment log, one of the inspection devices required to perform that check had been locked in calibration storage onshore on the date the work supposedly occurred.
Impossible.
Someone had certified an inspection that could not have happened.
The signature at the bottom belonged to a junior sailor.
Seaman First Class Daniel Ruiz.
The approval directly above it belonged to Brandon.
Brandon pushed the paper away.
“Ruiz signed it.”
“Under whose supervision?”
“Mine.”
“Was the test performed?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You approved it.”
“I approve hundreds of things.”
“Then perhaps you should remember the ones involving fire safety.”
His eyes hardened.
“You think because you’ve got stars now, you can walk onto my ship and act like you know everything?”
Captain Ellison inhaled sharply.
Mercer stepped forward.
I raised one hand.
He stopped.
I had heard versions of that sentence my entire life.
Dad said it when I entered the Naval Academy.
Brandon said it when I received my warfare qualification.
Dad repeated it after my first deployment.
Different words.
Same belief.
You don’t belong here.
I leaned slightly toward my brother.
“This is not your ship.”
His mouth opened.
I continued.
“And rank is not ownership. It is responsibility.”
Nobody moved.
Captain Ellison finally spoke.
“Admiral, perhaps Petty Officer Hale should return to duty while we continue.”
“No.”
Brandon looked at him.
“What?”
“Petty Officer Hale will remain available for questioning.”
My brother laughed again.
“This is insane.”
I turned to Mercer.
“Bring me Seaman Ruiz.”
Brandon moved instantly.
“Why?”
I looked at him.
“Because I want to hear from the sailor whose signature appears on this document.”
“He’s inexperienced.”
“Then he should be easy to question.”
“He gets confused.”
“Interesting.”
Brandon froze.
I let the silence stretch.
“You seem very concerned about what Seaman Ruiz might say.”
“I’m concerned about you ruining someone’s career because you’re trying to prove something to Dad.”
There it was.
Dad.
Always Dad.
Captain Ellison looked between us.
Mercer’s expression remained unreadable.
I felt something inside me finally detach.
Not anger.
Something cleaner.
A boundary I should have drawn twenty years earlier.
“My father has nothing to do with this inspection.”
Brandon laughed bitterly.
“He has everything to do with you.”
“No. He has everything to do with the version of me you’ve chosen to believe.”
Before Brandon could answer, the wardroom door opened.
A lieutenant entered.
Behind him stood a young sailor.
Twenty-two, maybe twenty-three.
Thin.
Nervous.
A fading bruise sat along his jaw.
Brandon saw him.
Ruiz saw Brandon.
And the young man stopped walking.
That reaction was immediate.
Instinctive.
Fear.
Mercer noticed.
So did I.
“Seaman Ruiz,” I said gently, “come in.”
His eyes remained on Brandon.
Brandon folded his arms.
The young sailor swallowed.
“I’d rather not, ma’am.”
“Why?”
Ruiz glanced at my brother.
“I don’t want trouble.”
Brandon smiled.
Small.
Almost invisible.
But I saw it.
I turned to Captain Ellison.
“Petty Officer Hale will wait outside.”
Brandon stepped forward.
“Rebecca—”
“Outside.”
His face darkened.
“I’m not leaving.”
Captain Ellison finally found his voice.
“Petty Officer Hale.”
Brandon looked at him.
“That is an order.”
Brandon stared around the room.
Then at me.
The humiliation in his eyes was slowly becoming something uglier.
He turned and walked out.
The door closed.
Ruiz’s shoulders dropped.
Not completely.
But enough.
I waited.
“What happened to your jaw?”
He touched the bruise.
“Training accident.”
Mercer opened the personnel file.
“There was no reported training accident involving you this week.”
Ruiz went quiet.
I lowered my voice.
“Daniel, nobody in this room can promise you that telling the truth will be easy.”
He looked at me.
“But I can promise you that lying to protect someone who frightened you rarely makes things safer.”
His eyes filled.
He looked toward the closed door.
Then back at me.
“That maintenance check never happened.”
Captain Ellison closed his eyes.
Ruiz continued.
“Petty Officer Hale told me to sign it.”
“Why?”
“He said we were behind schedule.”
“What happened when you refused?”
Ruiz touched his jaw again.
Silence.
Mercer asked softly, “Did Petty Officer Hale hit you?”
Ruiz shook his head.
“No, sir.”
For half a second, relief moved through the room.
Then Ruiz added:
“He made someone else do it.”
Nobody spoke.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Ruiz stared at the floor.
“He called it corrective training.”
My stomach tightened.
“He told another sailor to put me in the ring.”
“What ring?”
“The auxiliary gym space.”
Captain Ellison looked confused.
Ruiz looked up.
“They make us fight.”
The wardroom went completely silent.
“Who is they?”
Ruiz answered without hesitation.
“Petty Officer Hale and Chief Donnelly.”
Captain Ellison stood abruptly.
“There is no authorized boxing program aboard this ship.”
“I know, sir.”
My gaze moved to Mercer.
He already had his notebook open.
“How long has this been happening?”
Ruiz whispered, “Since before I reported aboard.”
“And officers know?”
He hesitated.
That pause was worse than any answer.
I leaned forward.
“Daniel.”
He met my eyes.
“Somebody does.”
The door opened suddenly.
A sailor stood there, breathing hard.
“Captain.”
Ellison turned.
“What is it?”
“Sir, you need to come to engineering.”
“Why?”
The sailor looked at me.
Then Mercer.
Then Captain Ellison.
“Someone’s destroying records.”
Brandon.
The same thought hit all three of us.
I was already moving before Ellison spoke.
We hurried into the passageway.
Brandon was gone.
The sailor pointed toward the ladder.
“He went below five minutes ago.”
Mercer grabbed his radio.
“Security team to engineering immediately.”
Static answered.
Then a voice.
“Copy.”
We descended.
Fast.
The ship seemed suddenly different.
Narrower.
Hotter.
Every metal ladder louder beneath my shoes.
When we reached the engineering administration space, two sailors were standing outside.
One looked terrified.
“What happened?” Captain Ellison demanded.
“He locked the door.”
“Who?”
The sailor swallowed.
“Petty Officer Hale.”
Mercer tried the handle.
Locked.
He pounded once.
“Open the door!”
No response.
Then we smelled it.
Smoke.
Captain Ellison’s face drained.
“Open that door now!”
Something crashed inside.
I looked through the small reinforced window.
At first, all I saw was smoke.
Then movement.
Brandon.
He was standing beside a metal waste container.
Flames flickered inside it.
Papers were burning.
And when he looked up and saw me through the glass, the expression on his face told me everything I needed to know.
May you like
My brother wasn’t trying to prove his innocence anymore.
He was trying to erase the evidence.
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