Chapter 7 - A Uniform for Sale
Ward agreed to meet me at a diner outside town.
I asked him to come as a friend, not as a source of military authority.
He brought copies of emails Martin had sent him.
The messages included photographs of supposed awards, a promotional biography, and an invitation to endorse Martin's work.
One attachment was particularly disturbing.
It showed a certificate thanking Martin for organizing support packages for a deployed unit.
The certificate appeared to bear Ward's signature.
Ward had never signed it.
“I've already reported the false signature to the organization named on it,” he said.
“Let them verify their own records.”
I nodded.
That was the right approach.
We were uncovering facts, not pronouncing verdicts in a diner.
Ward told me another organizer had contacted him two weeks earlier.
A widow believed she had donated to a veterans' housing fund.
Now she couldn't get a receipt or confirmation of where the money went.
Ward looked exhausted.
“People want to help,” he said.
“They see a uniform and assume the story attached to it is true.”
I thought about Martin's embroidered hats.
They were more than props.
They were shortcuts to trust.
When I got home, Mom was waiting with an envelope addressed to Martin.
She hadn't opened it.
She had simply noticed that the return address belonged to a collections agency.
He had always claimed to be financially secure.
Now he was pressuring her to borrow against her house.
I told Mom we needed to separate what we could prove from what we suspected.
She looked strangely relieved.
“Your father used to say that,” she said.
“Facts first.”
That afternoon Sloan called with confirmation that the loan withdrawal had been received.
Mom smiled for the first time all week.
Then her phone rang.
Martin's name appeared.
She answered on speaker, with his knowledge.
“I need the money by Friday,” he said without greeting.
“There's no money coming,” Mom replied.
“You don't understand what's at stake.”
“Then explain it.”
His breath came through the speaker in ragged bursts.
“If Ellis doesn't get paid, he won't be the only one going down.”
The call ended.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
May you like
Then my mother said, very quietly, “He finally told me the truth about one thing.”
“He's afraid.”
