Chương 4
Nate watched all of it with the detached disbelief of a man who had spent the previous day losing his wife and possibly his brother while his son hovered between sleep and consciousness.
At eight twelve, Leah’s sister Rachel arrived.
She took one look at Nate’s uniform and said, “You’re still wearing that?”
“I didn’t bring clothes.”
“Mom packed a bag.”
“Whose mom?”
Rachel stared at him.
“Yours.”
“Right.”
He pressed both palms over his face.
Rachel set a duffel on the chair.
Her eyes were red, but she had done something to hide it. Rachel always wore makeup when she was furious. Leah used to tease her about it.
“You look like you’re about to brief Congress,” Rachel said.
“I smell worse.”
“You do.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
For a moment neither mentioned Leah.
Rachel sat beside Ben and touched one finger to his foot beneath the blanket.
“He wake up?”
“A little.”
“Talk?”
“Yes.”
She looked at Nate.
Something in his face changed hers.
“What did he say?”
Nate told her.
Rachel stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
“I told her to go to the inspector general.”
Nate felt as though she had struck him.
“What?”
Rachel’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
“You knew?”
“She called me.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she told me not to.”
“My wife is dead.”
“I am aware.”
“My son was nearly—”
“I am aware, Nate.”
Her voice rose enough that Ben moved.
Both of them stopped.
Rachel sat again.
The anger remained between them, but now they had to whisper it.
“What did she tell you?” Nate asked.
Rachel looked at Ben.
“She thought someone had been accessing documents after she flagged discrepancies. She said Marcus kept asking what she’d copied.”
“Copied where?”
“She didn’t tell me.”
“Did she say he threatened her?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means people don’t usually threaten you like they do in movies.”
Nate said nothing.
Rachel folded the hospital meal receipt that had been lying beside the bed. Once. Twice. Again.
“She said he kept reminding her that your name was on one of the approvals.”
Nate’s stomach tightened.
“What approval?”
“I don’t know.”
“She never told me that.”
Rachel gave him a look that contained grief, anger, and something uncomfortably close to pity.
“She tried to.”
Nate looked away.
He saw the kitchen.
The burned cheese.
The mail in his hand.
Leah saying, You don’t think it’s weird?
Him saying, Everything Marcus does is weird.
He had thought he was being funny.
“You knew she was scared,” Rachel said.
“I knew she was worried.”
“That distinction is doing a lot of work for you.”
“Don’t do this here.”
“Where would you like to do it?”
“Not beside my son.”
“He’s her son too.”
The sentence landed harder because Rachel whispered it.
Nate rose and walked to the window.
The parking garage filled most of the view.
Concrete levels. Brake lights. A man in a red jacket arguing with a ticket machine.
No beautiful skyline.
No symbolic sunrise.
Just Monday morning becoming Monday morning.
“I trusted him,” Nate said.
Rachel folded the receipt smaller.
“I know.”
“He practically raised me.”
“I know.”
“When Dad disappeared for three days, Marcus was the one who made sure I got to school.”
“I know.”
“He paid my first semester when Mom couldn’t.”
“Nate.”
“He took me to the academy.”
“Nate.”
“He was my best man.”
“I know who Marcus is.”
Nate turned.
Rachel’s expression had softened, which made him angrier.
“No, you know who Leah thought he was.”
“And you knew who you needed him to be.”
They stared at each other.
Ben’s monitor beeped steadily between them.
Rachel looked down first.
“I’m sorry.”
Nate shook his head.
“Don’t be.”
“I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
“It doesn’t make it wrong.”
At ten thirty, Detective Ortiz returned.
She brought another detective and a woman from a military investigative office who introduced herself as Special Agent Keira Sloan.
Sloan did not wear a uniform.
That bothered Nate for some reason.
She wore a plain navy suit, carried a slim folder, and looked at his medals only once.
“We need to discuss Northline Response,” she said.
Rachel left the room.
Nate stayed beside Ben.
Sloan asked whether he had ever approved an emergency contracting package involving Northline.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last spring.”
“Why?”
“Marcus sent it through.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Nate looked at her.
She waited.
He understood now why investigators all seemed to enjoy silence.
“It was for temporary logistics support after flooding damaged a regional storage site.”
“Did you review the vendor?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I wasn’t the contracting authority.”
“But your approval appears on a supporting operational justification.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My signature confirmed the need existed. It did not select Northline.”
“Did the need exist?”
“Yes.”
“Did you verify the scope?”
Nate rubbed his thumb against the bed rail.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Marcus called me.”
Sloan wrote nothing.
“What did he say?”
“That they had personnel waiting, equipment staged, and delays would cost days.”
“Did you feel pressured?”
“Not at the time.”
“At the time.”
Nate exhaled.
“He was my brother.”
Ortiz stood by the window.
Sloan opened the folder.
“Your wife requested access to invoices associated with that package six weeks ago.”
Nate looked at her.
“Okay.”
“She found charges for equipment that does not appear to have been delivered.”
“How much?”
“I’m not discussing totals yet.”
“Why?”
“Because you may become part of the investigation.”
The words were calm.
Nate felt them physically.
“My wife was investigating my signature.”
“She was examining a transaction that contained it.”
“Same thing.”
“No. It isn’t.”
He looked at Ben.
“How bad?”
“For you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know.”
“You have the files.”
“We have some files.”
“Then you know.”
Sloan closed the folder.
“Colonel Foster, people get into trouble during investigations because they become more interested in predicting consequences than telling the truth.”
May you like
Nate almost smiled.
“Did you practice that?”
