Chapter 2 - Twenty-Six Years Earlier
The person who had threatened me knew about my mother.
That meant my father wasn't the only person who had been hiding the past.
General Hale closed the briefing room door.
"What happened twenty-six years ago?" I asked.
He remained standing.
"I was a lieutenant colonel then."
"And?"
"I was assigned to an Army logistics review involving your mother's employer."
I stared at him.
"My mother worked for Caldwell Defense."
"She worked there as a financial compliance analyst."
I had known she worked for the company.
I hadn't known she was investigating it.
"What did she find?"
Hale looked at the papers.
"We never got the full answer."
"Why?"
"Because she died."
My throat tightened.
"Her death was ruled an accident."
"I know."
"You were there?"
"No."
"Then how do you know?"
"Because I was the officer who received her final report."
I couldn't speak.
My mother had never mentioned him.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Hale's expression softened.
"Because you were eight."
I pushed my chair back.
"That's convenient."
He accepted the anger.
"You have every right to hate that answer."
"My father said she was unstable."
Hale's eyes hardened.
"Your father lied."
The words landed harder than the threat.
"Why?"
"Because your mother's report implicated people who had enough influence to bury it."
I remembered childhood nights.
My father arguing with my mother.
Doors slamming.
My mother crying in the kitchen.
Then suddenly she was gone.
A car accident.
A funeral.
A father who wouldn't look at me.
A new wife.
A new son.
Blake.
And silence.
"What did her report say?"
Hale opened a secure file.
"She believed procurement invoices were being inflated."
"By how much?"
"Enough to matter."
"How much?"
"About thirty-four million dollars over three years."
I stared at him.
"Thirty-four million?"
"At the time, yes."
"And nobody was prosecuted?"
"The investigation was closed."
"Why?"
"Because the documents disappeared."
I laughed bitterly.
"Of course they did."
The Secretary interrupted.
"Colonel, we're not asking you to investigate the past alone. We're asking whether the same network is operating now."
I looked down at the report.
"Then why am I the right person?"
The acquisition director answered.
"Because whoever is responsible doesn't know how much you actually know."
I almost corrected him.
I knew very little.
But I knew enough now to be dangerous.
The briefing lasted another hour.
By the time I left the room, Washington had grown dark.
General Hale walked beside me.
"You shouldn't go back to the hotel."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good."
"Where should I go?"
"My office has a secure guest room."
I looked at him.
"You expected trouble."
"I expected somebody to realize you were reading the files."
"Someone already did."
"Which is why you're not leaving alone."
He paused.
"Maya."
I stopped.
"Your father may not be the person you think he is."
I gave him a tired smile.
"He's exactly the person I've thought he was for twenty-six years."
"That's not what I meant."
We reached the elevator.
My phone rang.
Victor.
I stared at the screen.
Hale said nothing.
I answered.
"Hello."
My father's voice was low.
"We need to talk."
"About what?"
"The White House."
"No. About the company."
Silence.
Then:
"Who gave you those files?"
I froze.
He knew.
"How do you know I have files?"
"You don't understand what's happening."
"Then explain it."
"It isn't safe."
"Funny. You spent twenty-six years pretending I didn't exist. Now suddenly you're worried about my safety."
"Maya—"
"Did you alter the test reports?"
"No."
"Did Blake?"
Another silence.
"Blake made mistakes."
My stomach tightened.
"What mistakes?"
"I can't discuss this over the phone."
"Then meet me."
"I will."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
"No."
I turned toward Hale.
"Tonight."
Father exhaled.
"Where?"
I gave him a public location.
He hesitated.
"Fine."
Before hanging up, he said:
"And Maya?"
"What?"
"Don't trust the general."
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone.
Hale was watching me.
"What did he say?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Then I told him.
His face became unreadable.
"He knows about your investigation," he said.
"I know."
"And he told you not to trust me."
"Yes."
Hale nodded slowly.
"Then we're making progress."
"What does that mean?"
"It means whoever is behind this is nervous enough to make your father start speaking."
That night, inside the secure guest room, I opened my mother's archived personnel file.
One document was missing.
Another had been scanned twice.
The original file number ended in 814.
The second copy ended in 815.
I searched the database.
File 815 had been deleted.
I restored the metadata.
The deletion date stopped me cold.
October 4.
Twenty-six years ago.
The day after my mother's funeral.
Someone had accessed her file after she was buried.
And the user ID belonged to Victor Caldwell.
I leaned back.
My father's warning came back to me.
Don't trust the general.
But now I had a different question.
Why had my father opened my mother's file after her death?
My secure laptop chimed.
A new document appeared.
One line.
YOUR FATHER DIDN'T DELETE THE FILE.
I stared at it.
May you like
Then a second line appeared.
HE DELETED IT AFTER SOMEONE ORDERED HIM TO.
