Chương 11
Children are sometimes kinder about ambiguity than grown people.
Daniel Pierce leaned against the stainless steel counter a few feet away.
He had removed his tuxedo jacket and folded it over one arm.
"Counsel's arrived."
"I know."
"He brought another attorney from the inspector general's office."
I looked at him.
"That's fast."
"Evelyn called before dessert."
"So she expected trouble?"
"She expected disclosure."
He gave me a tired smile.
"Trouble was your mother's contribution."
Lily looked up at him.
"Grandma slapped Mommy."
Daniel's smile disappeared.
"I saw."
"Are governors allowed to arrest people?"
"No."
"What about governor husbands?"
"Even less."
She thought about that.
"That's not very useful."
I laughed despite myself.
Daniel did too.
Then I remembered the dining room.
The laughter vanished almost immediately, but for half a second it had loosened something in my chest.
I handed Lily her little ivory cardigan.
"Put this on."
"Why?"
"Because the restaurant is cold."
"I'm not cold."
"You will be."
"I'm literally eating ice cream."
"Which is another argument for the cardigan."
She sighed heavily, the way six-year-olds do when forced to survive unreasonable government.
Daniel turned away to hide a smile.
I helped her with one sleeve.
"You're going to stay with Mr. Pierce a little longer."
Her face tightened.
"You said you'd come back."
"I did come back."
"You know what I mean."
I did.
"I have to finish talking."
"Can I sit where I can see you?"
The old instinct rose immediately.
Protect her.
Hide the mess.
Keep adult ugliness on the other side of a closed door.
That instinct had ruled my family for years.
My mother had probably called it protection too.
"Yes."
Lily studied my face, looking for hesitation.
"Really?"
"Really."
Daniel straightened.
"We can use the small table by the service door."
"She doesn't need to hear everything."
"She won't."
He glanced toward Lily.
"I've been reliably informed there are headphones and at least forty-seven episodes of something involving magical kittens."
"Forty-eight," Lily corrected.
"National emergency avoided."
I led her back toward the dining room.
The restaurant had thinned almost completely.
Only family, the Pierces, the Marlowes, two state attorneys, restaurant staff, and the security detail remained.
My father's birthday cake sat untouched beneath sixty small gold candles that no one had lit.
Someone had removed the champagne glasses.
The room looked less like a celebration now and more like the aftermath of one.
Lily settled at a small table within sight of mine.
Daniel found the headphones.
She put them on and immediately began tapping the screen of his tablet.
I watched long enough to make sure the volume worked.
Then I went back.
The older of the two attorneys introduced herself as Rebecca Sloan.
She had gray hair cut bluntly at her jaw and wore the expression of someone accustomed to people lying before she finished sitting down.
The younger man beside her was Marcus Lee from the Office of the State Inspector General.
He placed a legal pad on the table.
Sloan held up one hand before anyone spoke.
"I want to be very clear."
Nobody moved.
"This is not a formal interview."
My father nodded.
"Understood."
"It becomes one if evidence suggests conduct within our jurisdiction."
My mother crossed her arms.
"Are we free to leave?"
"Yes."
"Then why are we still here?"
Sloan looked at her.
"I imagine each person has a different reason."
My mother had no answer.
Sloan turned toward Governor Pierce.
"Governor, from this point forward, I'd prefer you not direct the factual discussion."
Pierce nodded.
"Agreed."
That was the moment the evening stopped belonging to her too.
Authority had limits.
I respected her more for allowing them.
Sloan looked at me.
"Ms. Bennett, you initiated the recovery review that eventually became the infrastructure control audit."
"Years ago, yes."
"And you currently hold a senior role in the Resilience Office."
"Yes."
"Then before we continue, I need you to understand that anything you provide may create recusal issues."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
The question annoyed me.
"Yes."
She studied my face.
"Good."
Then she turned to everyone.
"No deleting messages."
My father exhaled through his nose.
"No altering files."
Ethan stared at the table.
"No contacting former employees or contractors to coordinate recollections."
Senator Marlowe gave his son a look.
Ethan looked mildly offended.
"I know."
Sloan raised one eyebrow.
"People frequently know right before they do it anyway."
Vanessa nearly smiled.
The attorney continued.
"If any of you retain counsel tonight, call them before answering questions you don't understand."
My mother looked at my father.
He did not look back.
For thirty seconds nobody spoke.
Then Marcus Lee asked, "Who has the Weller correspondence?"
Ethan raised his phone.
"Some of it."
"Original device?"
"This phone is new."
"Cloud backup?"
"Yes."
"Do not forward anything."
Ethan lowered it.
My father said, "I have archived emails."
My mother looked at him.
"From that long ago?"
"I archive everything."
"You told me those accounts were purged."
"They were removed from company servers."
"That's not what I asked."
He shrugged.
"That's what I answered."
Even now.
Even with everything collapsing, there were still private cruelties between them.
Sloan noticed.
"Where are the archives?"
My father hesitated.
"Encrypted drive."
"Location?"
"Home office."
"Password protected?"
"Yes."
"Backed up?"
He looked toward my mother.
"Off-site."
She stared.
"Where?"
"Safe-deposit box."
Her face hardened.
"You kept a second copy from me."
My father laughed softly.
"Diane, after twenty-nine years of marriage, I'm struggling to understand why redundancy surprises you."
"Don't make jokes."
"I'm not."
Sloan interrupted.
"Mr. Bennett."
He stopped.
"Do the archives include communications with Thomas Weller?"
"Probably."
"With Michael Harrow?"
"Some."
"With state procurement personnel?"
A pause.
"Yes."
Marcus Lee started writing.
My father's eyes followed the pen.
"That answer doesn't mean what you think it means."
Lee kept writing.
"I haven't told you what I think."
May you like
My father sat back.
For the first time that evening, he looked like a man who understood he had lost control of the interpretation.
