Chương 8
“Were you involved?”
“I knew he wanted to avoid repeating it.”
“Why?”
“Money. Time. The new lab wasn’t ready.”
“Did he alter the report?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Evan.”
“I don’t.”
His voice broke on the last word, not with tears but with anger at being disbelieved.
Josephine watched his breathing slow. He had learned that somewhere. Not from their father.
“Who borrowed the money to buy my shares?” she asked.
“I did.”
“From whom?”
He looked at the vending machine.
“Evan.”
“North Coast Capital.”
She knew the name. A private investment firm that specialized in distressed manufacturers and described layoffs as efficiency events.
“What were the terms?”
“None of your business.”
“They became my business when your company submitted false test data to my command.”
“I guaranteed the loan with company assets.”
“What happens if the Navy contract is suspended?”
“They can demand additional collateral.”
“And if you cannot provide it?”
He did not answer.
“They take control,” Josephine said.
“They have step-in rights.”
“Control.”
“Temporary management authority.”
“Control.”
His face reddened. “Do you think I don’t know what the words mean?”
“I think you’ve spent years changing words until they hurt less.”
He pushed away from the vending machine. “And you spend years making them hurt more.”
The investigator opened the door.
Evan nodded toward her. “I have to go.”
“Tell Webb everything.”
“I am.”
“Not the version that protects Dad.”
He looked at Josephine for a long moment.
“You don’t get to tell me how to grieve him,” he said.
Then he went inside.
The grounding recommendation reached Arizona that afternoon. The program office accepted it within thirty minutes, then spent the next six hours asking whether the recommendation could be described as a temporary testing pause.
The undersecretary canceled his demonstration visit.
News of the delay appeared on a defense-industry website before sunset. The report did not name Barrett Aeronautical, but the contract value and program description made the vendor easy to identify. By morning, two trade publications had called the company for comment.
North Coast Capital called Evan seven times.
Webb’s forensic accountant discovered that Barrett Aeronautical had been using advances from unrelated commercial orders to cover Navy program expenses. It was not necessarily illegal. It was, however, a sign that cash moved through the company according to urgency rather than purpose.
Andrew Bell, the terminated engineer, agreed to an interview.
He arrived at a federal office building in Richmond with his own lawyer and a cardboard box containing notebooks. Bell was forty-six and thin enough that his suit hung from him. He had worked at Barrett Aeronautical for eleven years.
Josephine was not permitted to attend the interview. She received a summary the next day.
Bell claimed he had objected to using the 2020 test. He said the new housing used a different alloy supplier and a modified machining process, making equivalency impossible without additional analysis. According to Bell, Evan told the engineering team that the company would collapse if the Navy bid missed its deadline.
Bell also claimed Robert Barrett had approved the original material variance in 2020 after a supplier shipment failed domestic-origin requirements. The housing tested that year was not built from the approved alloy either.
The implication was worse than Josephine had expected.
The old test might itself have validated a substituted material.
Webb requested company records dating back seven years.
Evan’s attorney objected to the scope.
North Coast Capital appointed a restructuring consultant to Barrett Aeronautical under the step-in clause. Employees received an email assuring them operations would continue. Three senior engineers resigned by lunchtime.
Josephine learned these things through official reports and her mother’s increasingly frantic messages.
On Friday evening, her mother appeared at the townhouse carrying a casserole.
Josephine opened the door and looked at the covered dish.
“What is that?”
“Chicken.”
“I can see that.”
“You haven’t been eating.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know what you do when you’re upset.”
Her mother stepped past her without being invited.
Elaine Barrett was sixty-eight and wore grief as though it were an obligation she had fulfilled perfectly. Her silver-blond hair remained carefully shaped. She dressed for errands in pressed slacks and low heels. Even now, with her son’s company under federal review, she had applied lipstick.
She placed the casserole on the kitchen counter and opened the refrigerator.
“You have mustard, three eggs, and something in a jar that looks medical.”
“Pickled onions.”
“Why?”
“They came with takeout.”
“When?”
Josephine did not answer.
Elaine moved the casserole into the refrigerator, then closed the door with both hands. “Evan says you told the investigator about the loan.”
“She would have found it.”
“That is not the point.”
“It is exactly the point.”
“North Coast may take the company.”
“They already have management rights.”
“Your father’s name is on that building.”
“His name is also on the test report.”
Elaine turned. “He made mistakes.”
Josephine leaned against the counter.
It was the first time her mother had admitted even that much.
Elaine’s fingers worried the clasp of her purse. “He was sick. The company was losing money. Evan was trying to help.”
“Did you know they reused the data?”
“No.”
“Did you know about the material substitution?”
“I knew suppliers were a problem.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Her mother looked toward the hall closet. The uniform coat hung behind the door, unseen but present.
“Your father believed the material was equivalent,” Elaine said.
“Based on what?”
“He said the specifications were political.”
“Domestic-source requirements are contractual, not metallurgical. They still had to test the actual material.”
“He said the approved supplier charged twice as much because the government forced them to.”
“That may have been true.”
Elaine blinked, surprised.
“It still does not justify false records,” Josephine added.
“There. You almost sounded human for a second.”
May you like
Josephine looked down.
Her mother’s anger faded as quickly as it had appeared. She opened the purse and removed a small digital recorder, the kind journalists once used before phones replaced everything.
