Chương 12
“Where are you?”
“Near Charlottesville.”
“Why?”
“I have a friend.”
“Name?”
“No.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Are you planning to harm yourself?”
“For God’s sake.”
“Answer.”
“No.”
“Do you have the company laptop?”
“Yes.”
“Do not destroy or alter anything.”
“So now you’re investigating me.”
“I am telling you not to make your situation worse.”
“You already did that.”
Elena lowered her feet to the floor.
“No, Derek. I stopped making it easier.”
Silence.
The line remained open long enough that she could hear him breathing.
Then he said, “Do you know what it’s like to be your brother?”
She almost answered with something sharp.
Instead, she waited.
“Every room,” he said, “Dad had already been there. Then you. People hear Ross and look for a uniform. I tried to build something that belonged to me.”
“You named it Ross Strategic Maritime.”
He let out a sound that might have been a laugh.
“Yeah. Well.”
The human absurdity of it passed between them.
Elena stood and walked to the kitchen.
“You could still cooperate,” she said.
“And lose everything.”
“You may lose it anyway.”
“That must feel good.”
“It does not.”
“Come on.”
“I have spent years paying for your emergencies.”
“I never asked you to.”
“You asked Mother. She asked me.”
“That was between you and her.”
“No. That was how you asked without hearing no.”
Derek went quiet.
Elena opened the refrigerator, though she was not hungry. The light revealed soup, mustard, and half a lemon hardened at the edges.
“I hated you,” Derek said.
She closed the refrigerator.
“When?”
“When you left. When Dad compared me to you. When Mom used your money and pretended it came from somewhere else. When you showed up calm after everything had gone wrong and fixed one piece like that made you better than us.”
“I wasn’t calm.”
“You looked calm.”
“I was terrified most of the time.”
“You never said.”
“You never asked.”
He sighed.
“There you go again.”
“What?”
“Making questions a moral achievement.”
Elena leaned against the counter.
He was right enough to be painful.
“What do you want from me now?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“That is not safe for either of us.”
“I want you to say I’m not a criminal.”
“I can say I don’t know whether you committed a crime.”
“That’s generous.”
“I can also say you lied.”
“I believed the company would succeed.”
“You lied about me.”
Another truck passed in the distance.
Derek said, “Dad gave me the assignment information.”
Elena’s hand tightened around the phone.
“When?”
“Hospital. Three weeks before he died.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“That you were taking over the base. That it wasn’t public yet. He said maybe there was finally a way for the family to help each other.”
“Did he authorize you to use it?”
“He said you would understand.”
“He was medicated.”
“He knew who I was.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No. He didn’t say, ‘Put it in an investor deck.’”
“Did you tell Paul Vance?”
Silence.
Elena straightened.
“Derek.”
“He contacted me.”
“How did he know?”
“Dad gave me his name.”
A cold clarity moved through her.
Thomas had not made one impulsive disclosure. He had constructed a path.
“What did Vance provide?”
“Market context. Introductions.”
“Restricted information?”
“No.”
“Internal documents?”
“No.”
“Did he claim he spoke for me?”
“He said he understood your priorities.”
“What did you pay him?”
“Consulting equity.”
“How much?”
“Two percent.”
Elena pressed her fingers to her forehead.
“Preserve every message.”
“Why would I help them bury me?”
“Because destroying evidence will bury you faster.”
Derek’s breathing became uneven.
For the first time, she heard genuine fear without anger wrapped around it.
“What happens if I come back?”
“You obtain counsel. You cooperate. You tell the truth.”
“And you?”
“I remain out of the review.”
“So you do nothing.”
“I live with the outcome.”
“That’s easy.”
“No,” Elena said. “It is only passive.”
He did not answer.
She looked at the dark kitchen window, seeing her own reflection and the room behind her.
“Call Mother,” she said.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“She’ll cry.”
“She may.”
“I hate when she cries.”
“So do I.”
Another pause.
“Did she really mortgage the house?”
“Yes.”
Derek swore softly.
Elena heard his car door open. Cold air rushed across the microphone.
“I didn’t know she used the house.”
“She says you did.”
“She said she had liquidity.”
“She lied to protect you from the cost of your own request.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Yes.”
He breathed out.
“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Come back tonight.”
“I’m tired.”
“Then stop at a hotel and send your location to your attorney.”
“I don’t have one.”
“I will text you the state bar referral number. You choose your own counsel. Do not ask me for a recommendation.”
“Still building walls.”
“Tonight, yes.”
Derek remained on the line.
Then, very quietly, he said, “Were you really terrified?”
“At the Academy?”
“All of it.”
Elena looked at the old photograph still open in her messages.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come home?”
“Because I thought if I came home once, none of you would let me leave again.”
Derek said nothing.
The call ended a minute later without goodbye.
He returned the following afternoon.
Not to the base.
He went to a civilian attorney’s office in Norfolk and surrendered copies of his laptop, phone records, investor materials, and communications with Paul Vance. His attorney notified installation counsel and requested a formal interview later in the week.
The wider review moved slowly.
Slower than the internet, slower than family panic, slower than Vivian believed justice should move when she wanted protection and faster than she believed it should move when Derek faced consequences.
Paul Vance denied disclosing restricted information. His messages showed otherwise. He had sent Derek internal planning language, staffing concerns, and a summary of priorities attributed to Elena before she assumed command.
None of the documents were classified.
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That did not make the conduct acceptable.
Vance had used knowledge gained through prior service and personal contacts to create commercial advantage. Derek had turned that access into investor claims. Thomas had connected them.
