The General’s next text was short. The lawful search had found an older welfare incident connected to my son’s previous Army installation. He could not send me the report because I had no legal right to see it, but he gave me an incident number and the office my son could contact.
That distinction mattered to me. I had spent thirty years in counterintelligence learning that facts gathered the wrong way could destroy the very case they were supposed to protect.
I had called my daughter-in-law my daughter when I spoke to the General because, for years, that was how I had treated her. Whatever happened next, I did not want revenge. I wanted to know whether my grandson was safe.
A hospital social worker entered a few minutes later. She introduced herself to my grandson, pulled a chair beside his bed, and told me gently that she needed to speak with him without anyone answering for him.
