It was a casualty card.
Thomas Reed’s name appeared beside five others.
Three were marked killed in action.
Two were marked wounded.
Thomas was listed as the final man evacuated.
Across the bottom, someone had written:
Supporting records separated due to operational classification. Transfer upon release authority.
Daniel felt his hands begin to tremble.
Not because the paper was valuable.
Because it should have been unnecessary.
A government promise had been written clearly enough for any clerk to understand.
Yet the man standing across the counter had carried it for more than half a century.
Daniel lowered the document.
“Mr. Reed, how many times have you filed?”
Thomas looked toward the waiting-room chairs.
“Officially?”
“Yes.”
“Twenty-three.”
Daniel stared at him.
“Twenty-three claims?”
“Some were appeals. Some were requests to reopen. The names changed over the years.”
“What happened?”
“The same thing every time.”
“What did they tell you?”
“That my records showed a training injury.”
Daniel opened another search system and entered the old claim number.
The computer hesitated.
Then a message appeared.
ARCHIVED FILE REFERENCE — RESTRICTED OR UNAVAILABLE
Daniel’s tiredness disappeared.
He called his supervisor.
“Linda, can you come to Window Four?”
“Is it urgent?”
“Yes.”
“How urgent?”
Daniel looked at Thomas.
“Fifty-six years.”
Linda Cho arrived carrying a tablet.
She was fifty-one, precise, and known throughout the office for solving cases other employees quietly pushed aside.
Daniel gave her the letter.
She read the first page without speaking.
Then she examined the stamps under the desk lamp.