He Asked A Judge To Make My Records Go Away

The complaint said I had spread false statements that harmed Kincaid's safety business. It called my records stolen material.

Rhea read it without changing her face.

“He wants the copies returned while the case goes forward,” she said.

“Would that stop the review?”

“The review office has its own records. He can't collect those from your kitchen.”

I sat down.

“I don't have $40,000.”

“A demand is what someone asks for. It isn't what a court has found.”

That sentence became useful over the next several weeks.

The guide service finally gave my twelve dates to someone else. My boss, Dani, called me herself.

“The booking committee won't wait,” she said. “I can keep your regular walks.”

“Send me the change in writing, please.”

She went quiet.

“I'm sorry, Eleni.”

“I know. I still need the email.”

Rhea added the canceled dates to our response and the claim we filed against Kincaid for the harm his public lie had caused.

“No guesses,” she told me. “Give me losses you can show.”

I sent the twelve bookings, my rate, and Dani's email.

Rhea also asked where I had shared the packet.

“Your office, the fund board, and the review offices,” I said. “June has a backup.”

“No public posts?”

“None.”

We made a list of each copy and who had received it. He had accused me of spreading rumors. I wanted the court to see the exact words I had sent, with the records attached.

One envelope on Rhea's desk held his course handout. It had reached more people than all my complaints put together.

At the first hearing, I wore my only jacket over a plain blue shirt. The courthouse air felt cold against my damp hair.

I had left my guide pack in the truck. Its ribbon would not help in a room with sealed windows.

Kincaid sat beside a lawyer in a gray suit. He gave the courtroom the same calm look he had given the benefit hall.

His lawyer said I had used partial recordings to damage a respected officer's name.

Rhea stood.

“We have supplied the full released recording, the release letter, and the receipt for the original card. My client has offered access to all of it.”

She placed the copies before the judge.

“The plaintiff has supplied a report that omits the written evacuation order.”

Kincaid whispered to his lawyer.

The judge looked at the release letter.

“This office authorized these copies?”

“Yes,” Rhea said. “The office has confirmed the letter in writing.”

“Then I see no basis today to order their surrender.”

She told both sides to preserve relevant records. She also made clear that the civil case would not decide military assignments or rewrite service files.

There would be more steps. More papers. More cost.

But I walked out still holding my folder.

At the elevator, Kincaid moved close enough for me to smell his soap.

“You've made this larger than it needed to be.”

Rhea stepped between us.

“Talk through counsel.”

He looked past her.

“A calm voice on a radio doesn't mean she understood what she was doing.”

“No,” I said. “That's why I kept the meter readings.”

His elevator opened. He got in without answering.

Outside, I stood beside a planted hedge until I could feel the breeze. Then I called Sione.

“I kept the copies,” I said.

“Of course. They have receipts.”

He sounded so sure that I almost cried.

He had spent the morning at his hangar, where the review team had taken a statement. His dispatch recording included his read-back of the north shelf approach. It also caught a command voice under the edge of another call.

“Can you tell who it is?” I asked.

“I can guess. They need more than my guess.”

Commander Ellis gave me the same answer when she called that evening. Her team had obtained control logs showing that the old advisory had been kept in the broadcast queue after my correction.

“We're comparing the voice tracks with the duty record,” she said. “We're also reviewing who selected the material for the first inquiry.”

I closed my eyes.

The first inquiry had interviewed Kincaid. It had sent me a form with six boxes and no space for an attachment.

I had mailed my order anyway.

“Do they have that original letter?” I asked.

“We found the mail receipt in the file.”

The next morning, Rhea told me Kincaid would have to answer questions under oath. She had also begun the formal process to obtain the records the review office could release for the civil case.

“This may take time,” she said.

“I've been waiting two years.”

“Waiting with a deadline is different.”

She gave me a date.

A week before it, I came into her office and found a woman in a plain service uniform beside the window.

Lieutenant Tessa Morrow rose to meet me.

She held a folder with E-17 written across its tab.