Chương 9
Not shock.
Recognition.
Then concern.
“Understood.”
He ended the call.
“What?”
Dad did not answer immediately.
“What did she say?”
“Northstar appears in documents already provided to investigators.”
My pulse quickened.
“What is it?”
“She wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”
“Can she tell me?”
“Possibly not.”
“Can she tell you?”
“Possibly.”
“Useful distinction.”
“She did say one thing.”
I waited.
Dad looked at the sleeping baby between us.
“The review is not about whether the company made mistakes.”
“What is it about?”
“Whether someone inside the company deliberately hid them.”
A knock came at the door.
Dad’s posture changed again.
“Who is it?”
A woman answered from the hallway.
“Evelyn Shaw.”
Dad looked at me.
“That was fast.”
“Apparently your lawyers materialize.”
“She lives nearby.”
“You know where she lives?”
“We’ve been friends twenty-six years.”
“You never mentioned her.”
“You never asked.”
I groaned.
“Your entire life is apparently protected by that sentence.”
He opened the door.
Evelyn Shaw was not what I expected.
She was in her late fifties, wearing black slacks, running shoes, and a raincoat despite the clear night.
Her silver hair was pulled into a careless knot.
She carried a canvas grocery bag.
“You look terrible, Tom,” she said.
“Claire gave birth.”
“I was talking about you.”
Dad stepped aside.
Evelyn came to the bed and looked at me, then at the mark on my face.
Her expression did not change.
“May I sit?”
“Yes.”
She put the grocery bag on the floor.
“I was at Wegmans.”
“That explains the bag,” Dad said.
“No one asked you.”
I liked her immediately.
She turned to me.
“Before we discuss anything, I represent your father in matters related to his former service and certain ongoing obligations.”
“Not me.”
“Correct.”
“Can you represent me?”
“Possibly, but I may have a conflict depending on where this goes.”
“That sounds promising.”
“It isn’t.”
Dad leaned against the wall.
Evelyn looked at him.
“Stop looming.”
“I’m standing.”
“You loom when you stand.”
He sat.
She faced me again.
“Your husband works for Meridian Systems?”
“Yes.”
“Senior program manager?”
“I think his title is director now.”
“Which division?”
“Federal logistics.”
She nodded.
“Did David ever discuss an internal project called Northstar?”
“No.”
“Any unusual work travel recently?”
“He went to Huntsville twice.”
“When?”
“June and July.”
She glanced at Dad.
“Expected.”
I noticed.
“What does expected mean?”
Evelyn ignored the question.
“Has he brought work devices home?”
“A laptop.”
“Government-issued?”
“Company laptop.”
“Any removable drives?”
“I don’t know.”
“Paper files?”
“He prints everything.”
“That matters.”
My mouth went dry.
“He keeps boxes in the office closet.”
Evelyn’s expression sharpened.
“What kind of boxes?”
“Banker’s boxes.”
“How many?”
“Three, maybe four.”
“When did you last see them?”
“Last week.”
“Were they labeled?”
“One said taxes.”
“Others?”
I closed my eyes, trying to picture the closet.
There had been a white label on one box.
A word in black marker.
Northstar.
My eyes opened.
“I saw it.”
Dad sat forward.
Evelyn remained still.
“Where?”
“In our house.”
“Claire, do not go home.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Do not send anyone there.”
“Why?”
“Because if those documents are related to an active federal review, touching or moving them could create serious problems.”
“My clothes are there.”
“Then buy new clothes.”
“My daughters’ things are there.”
“Buy toothbrushes.”
“You make that sound easy.”
“I’m making it sound safer.”
I looked at Benjamin.
“What happens now?”
Evelyn glanced toward Dad, then back to me.
“Now you decide which problem is actually yours.”
I frowned.
“My husband’s work is my problem.”
“His conduct toward you is your problem.”
She pointed gently toward my cheek.
“Your children’s safety is your problem.”
She pointed toward Benjamin.
“Your husband’s federal compliance exposure may become relevant to you, but it is not yours to solve.”
The words irritated me because they were sensible.
“So I just ignore it?”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“I said don’t solve it.”
Evelyn reached into her bag and took out a legal pad.
“You preserve what you already have, you don’t access anything you normally wouldn’t, you don’t delete messages, and you don’t warn David about what investigators may or may not know.”
“Why would I warn him?”
“People warn spouses they are furious with all the time.”
I thought of all the arguments where I had said things just to make David react.
She had me there.
“What about the paternity test?”
“That is a separate issue.”
“I want one.”
“Then arrange one through an accredited laboratory after speaking with family counsel.”
“Can’t the hospital do it?”
“Possibly, but your purpose matters.”
“I want proof.”
“For whom?”
“David.”
Evelyn’s eyes did not leave mine.
“That is not the same as wanting truth.”
I bristled.
“I know the truth.”
“Exactly.”
Dad shifted in his chair.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You have a face.”
“I always have a face.”
“Not that one.”
Evelyn smiled faintly.
“He thinks you should do the test.”
Dad looked betrayed.
“You told her?”
“No.”
“I’ve known you twenty-six years.”
I looked from one to the other.
“Apparently everyone in my life has secret relationships.”
Dad sighed.
“Evelyn saved my career twice.”
“Once,” she said.
“The second time you deserved the investigation.”
“I was cleared.”
“You were irritating.”
“I was correct.”
“You can be both.”
For a moment, the hospital room felt almost ordinary.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text from Carol.
He left.
Another appeared.
I tried to stop him.
Then a third.
He took my spare keys.
I looked at Dad.
Evelyn had already read my face.
“Where would he go?”
“My house.”
She stood.
Dad stood too.
I grabbed his sleeve before he could reach the door.
“No.”
He looked down at my hand.
“No what?”
“No going there.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I was going into the hall.”
“For what?”
“To make a call.”
Evelyn pointed at him.
“Make it from the chair.”
Dad sat back down with visible effort.
I called Marisol.
May you like
She answered immediately.
“The girls are asleep.”
