Chương 2
“I know what the website says.”
“You’ve been bidding on our propulsion support contract for four months.”
“My team handles the bids.”
“Your signature is on the certification package.”
He looked at her then. For the first time that evening, there was no mockery in his face.
“You reviewed it?”
“I’m the commanding officer.”
“I assumed procurement—”
“Procurement reviews cost and compliance. My people review whether your equipment could kill someone.”
The club manager introduced Admiral Vale. Applause rose, scattered at first, then gathered. Vale walked to the lectern without looking at them.
Evan whispered, “This is why you invited me.”
Josephine kept her attention on the admiral.
“I invited you because Mom said you would be in Norfolk and because we haven’t eaten together in nine months.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”
Vale began with a joke about pilots and paperwork. The room laughed carefully. Josephine recognized the technique. He was giving everyone permission to act normal again.
Evan’s knee bounced under the table.
When they were children, their father had called that motion evidence of weak character. Captain Robert Barrett had believed character could be diagnosed through posture, handwriting, punctuality, and the manner in which a person closed a refrigerator door. He had been a naval aviator, a squadron commander, and later the founder of Barrett Aeronautical Systems. In photographs, he looked heroic without seeming to try.
Josephine had spent half her life attempting to earn his approval.
Evan had spent half his life insisting he did not need it.
Neither had succeeded.
Vale spoke about the difference between acceptable risk and convenient risk. Josephine heard the words but watched Evan’s hands. He had stopped worrying the napkin. Now his right thumb moved against the side of his index finger, testing something invisible.
“Evan,” she said quietly.
“What?”
“Did your company submit the revised stress analysis for the actuator housing?”
He blinked once.
“Why are you asking me here?”
“Because your team told mine it was submitted Friday. It wasn’t.”
“That sounds like a document-control problem.”
“It sounds like a yes-or-no question.”
He reached for his water. The glass clicked against his ring.
“We had a server migration.”
“You told the contracting officer there was a cyberattack.”
“There was unauthorized access.”
“To the server that contained the missing analysis?”
“To several systems.”
“Which law enforcement agency did you notify?”
His hand stopped with the glass near his mouth.
Vale’s speech continued behind them, his voice steady and grave.
Evan set down the water. “You’re interrogating me at dinner.”
“No. I’m asking why your company gave two explanations for the same missing document.”
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn everything into a hearing.”
Josephine looked toward the nearest table. No one seemed to be listening, which meant half the room probably was.
She lowered her voice. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“I have meetings tomorrow.”
“You have one with me at eight.”
“I don’t.”
“You do now.”
He gave a short laugh, but it carried no amusement. “You can’t order me around because your friend embarrassed me.”
“Admiral Vale is not my friend.”
“He stood up for you.”
“He stood up because you insulted the officer responsible for determining whether your company remains eligible for a Navy contract.”
Evan’s eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m describing the room you walked into.”
For the remainder of the speech, neither of them spoke.
Vale concluded by asking the officers present to remember that every shortcut eventually acquired a face. The applause afterward was louder than before. Chairs shifted. Conversations restarted. Stewards moved through the room with coffee pots, grateful for work that required no opinion.
Evan pushed his chair back.
“We’re not done,” he said.
Josephine remained seated. “No. We aren’t.”
He left without shaking anyone’s hand.
The club doors closed behind him, and the room released a breath it had been holding for fifteen minutes.
Vale returned to the table. He looked toward the empty chair.
“That your brother?”
“You met him at my promotion.”
“I thought that was a different man.”
“He had a beard.”
“That must have been it.”
Josephine lifted her cold coffee again.
Vale sat beside her. “You should have warned me.”
“That my brother is rude?”
“That his company is bidding on Nine’s actuator work.”
“You signed the conflict plan.”
“I sign forty things before breakfast.”
“You also read them.”
“Usually after breakfast.”
She almost smiled. The impulse irritated her.
Vale’s expression became serious. “How bad is the package?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That isn’t your normal answer.”
“It’s the accurate one.”
“Your engineering chief called my office this afternoon.”
Josephine turned.
Vale folded his hands over the edge of the table. “Commander Ruiz believes Barrett Aeronautical reused fatigue-test data from a previous component.”
“That was not in his report.”
“He wasn’t certain enough to put it in writing.”
“He told you instead of me?”
“He asked whether your relationship to the company compromised the chain.”
A familiar coldness settled behind Josephine’s ribs. It was not anger, though anger would arrive later. This was the cleaner sensation that came when a problem acquired structure.
“What did you tell him?”
“That he was right to ask and wrong to bypass you without cause.”
“Then you should have sent him back to me.”
“I did.”
“He didn’t come.”
“Maybe he was waiting until after dinner.”
Josephine looked toward the door through which Evan had disappeared.
Vale followed her gaze. “Did you know he was attending?”
“My mother asked me to invite him.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Yes. I knew.”
“And did you know about the data concern before you sent the invitation?”
“No.”
Vale watched her for a moment. “You need to decide whether you can stay in the review.”
“I already decided.”
“That quickly?”
“The conflict plan says I disclose the relationship, delegate scoring authority, and retain responsibility for flight safety. I did all three.”
“This may not be a scoring issue.”
May you like
“No. It may be fraud.”
A steward approached with a coffee pot. Josephine covered her cup with one hand. Vale accepted a refill. The steward poured too much, and a dark crescent spilled into the saucer.
