Chương 13
Arthur rubbed both hands over his face.
“Because I wanted him to take it seriously.”
My stomach sank.
There was no innocent version left.
Maybe Arthur had never explicitly paid for a false credential.
Maybe he had never told Mercer to forge a signature.
But he had paid money to influence a process he knew he could not access through ordinary channels.
And when the impossible result arrived, he had chosen not to ask how.
Fiona looked at me.
“What do I do?”
It was the first time she had asked without trying to hand me responsibility.
I answered carefully.
“Preserve everything.”
She nodded.
“The original email if it still exists anywhere.”
“I deleted it.”
“Check deleted folders, backups, synced devices.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t contact Mercer.”
Arthur said, “Why not?”
“Because if there is an inquiry, contacting him now could look like coordination.”
His face tightened.
Fiona looked at Donovan.
He nodded slightly.
“I’ll help her collect whatever she has.”
I looked at her.
“And tomorrow you report the badge and the email through the proper channel.”
Her throat moved.
“Tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
Arthur stood again.
“You don’t need to rush into anything.”
Fiona turned toward him.
“I’ve been not rushing for two months.”
He opened his mouth.
She shook her head.
“No more.”
Arthur stared at her.
Then at me.
Then at Donovan.
He seemed suddenly surrounded.
Not by enemies.
By people refusing to carry his version of events for him.
He walked toward the hallway.
At the doorway, Fiona said, “Dad.”
He stopped.
“If they ask whether you paid Cal, I’m telling them.”
Arthur’s back went rigid.
For several seconds, I thought he would turn around and fight.
Instead, he nodded.
“I know.”
Then he left.
Fiona lowered herself into the chair he had vacated.
The kitchen had become quiet enough to hear the hum of the refrigerator.
Donovan sat beside her, not touching.
I folded the screenshot and handed it back.
She slipped it carefully into her pocket.
“What happens to me?”
she asked.
“I don’t know.”
She looked at me.
That answer no longer seemed to anger her.
“What do you think?”
“I think there will be questions.”
“Administrative?”
“Probably more than that.”
Her face tightened.
“Could I lose my job?”
“Yes.”
Donovan looked at me sharply.
I kept my eyes on Fiona.
She had asked.
She deserved an answer.
“Could I be charged with something?”
“I don’t know.”
She nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Her hands trembled in her lap.
Donovan reached toward her, stopped, then placed his hand on the table between them.
Fiona looked at it.
After a moment, she laid two fingers over his knuckles.
He did not pull away.
It wasn’t forgiveness.
It wasn’t a promise.
It was contact.
For that night, it was enough to make her breathe again.
By midnight, the last guest had gone home, leaving half a cake, crushed napkins, and a backyard that looked embarrassed by what had happened in it.
Fiona and Donovan left separately.
She slept in my old room at Arthur’s house because she said driving back to her apartment felt impossible.
Donovan kissed her forehead before he left, and the gentleness of it made her cry harder than anger would have.
Arthur disappeared into his bedroom without saying goodnight.
I stayed long enough to stack plates and throw away abandoned plastic cups.
It was easier to clean than to think.
At one in the morning, Fiona came into the kitchen wearing Arthur’s sweatshirt and carrying her phone.
“I found the original email.”
I stopped rinsing a serving spoon.
“Where?”
“Old tablet.”
She set it on the counter.
“I forgot it was synced.”
The message was still there.
Same wording.
Same sender.
Same date.
More importantly, the full thread showed two earlier messages.
Mercer had asked Arthur for Fiona’s candidate number.
Arthur had sent it.
Then Mercer had written, I can move the record if you’re sure she’s good for the standard.
Arthur’s reply was four words.
She should have passed.
I read it twice.
Fiona stood beside me with her arms folded tightly over her chest.
“That’s worse, right?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
I expected her to ask if there was some interpretation that could save him.
She didn’t.
Instead, she took photographs of the screen with her phone and wrote down the tablet passcode.
“I’m not deleting anything.”
“Good.”
“Do I give them the tablet?”
“If they ask.”
“What if Dad asks for it?”
“Don’t give it to him.”
Her mouth tightened.
“He bought it.”
“The device may be his property.”
“And the evidence?”
“Don’t use that word with him.”
“Why?”
“Because right now he’s ashamed.”
She looked toward the dark hallway.
“That’s generous.”
“It’s practical.”
She gave me a tired smile.
“There you are.”
The next morning, Fiona reported the badge.
She did it from Arthur’s dining room while I sat across from her and deliberately kept my mouth shut.
She made the call herself.
Her voice shook only once.
She gave her name, her unit information, the credential in question, and the fact that she had reason to believe the supporting authorization had been improperly altered.
When the person on the other end asked whether she had worn the badge after learning the qualification record was questionable, Fiona closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
A long pause followed.
“Yes, I understand.”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
She wrote down a name and a case number.
When the call ended, she stared at the paper.
“That was awful.”
“You did it.”
“Please don’t congratulate me for reporting my own misconduct.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good.”
She looked at the case number again.
“Maybe a little.”
“Fine.”
She rubbed both hands over her face.
“A tiny amount.”
Arthur came downstairs ten minutes later.
He had changed into jeans and a button-down shirt, as though dressing respectably might improve the situation.
He saw the paper beside Fiona.
“You called?”
“Yes.”
His face tightened.
“You couldn’t wait until we talked?”
“We did talk.”
“You know what I mean.”
May you like
“I do.”
He looked at me.
