Chapter 7 - The Paper Trail
The room seemed to drop ten degrees in temperature.
Derek looked down at his own blotter as if a scorpion had appeared on it. “What?”
Nathan walked forward, handing a single sheet of paper to the Master-at-Arms, who carried it directly to Undersecretary Vance.
“Three weeks ago,” Nathan said, his voice ringing with the clarity of a ship’s bell, “Halston Marine’s quality control manager in Canton refused to sign the safety certification for the propulsion housings. He was threatened with termination. When he still refused, an executive vice president bypassed the engineering division entirely and applied an emergency commercial waiver to clear the components for delivery.”
Undersecretary Vance looked at the paper, then looked up over his half-moon reading glasses. His eyes were small, dark, and utterly devoid of mercy.
“The signature on this waiver,” Vance said, “is Derek Halston.”
“It was an administrative routing!” Derek shouted, his voice cracking into a shrill, hysterical pitch that echoed off the sound-dampening walls. “Julian told me it was just an administrative formality! He said the tests had already passed secondary review in San Diego! I didn't read the technical appendices! Nobody reads the appendices!”
Julian Halston closed his eyes. The four corporate lawyers beside him didn't speak; they were already packing their leather binders, quietly sliding their chairs back, creating the legal equivalent of a firebreak between themselves and the two men who had just committed multiple counts of federal procurement fraud on a recorded military line.
“Julian!” Derek grabbed his uncle’s shoulder, shaking him frantically. “Tell them! Tell them you gave me the file! Tell them you told me to sign it before the quarter ended so we could hit the earnings target!”
Julian slowly opened his eyes, looked at his nephew’s hand on his sleeve with pure disgust, and brushed it off with the back of his fingers.
“I have no comment at this time,” Julian said, his voice flat, dead, and entirely devoid of emotion. “My counsel will advise the board regarding our response to these baseless allegations.”
“Baseless?”
Admiral Reddick stepped forward from the gallery, his medals clinking softly. He didn't look at Julian; he looked at the senior Admiral on the board, a three-star named Miller who had served as Reddick’s chief of staff during the Persian Gulf deployment.
“Miller,” Reddick said quietly.
Admiral Miller stood up immediately. “Sir.”
“Have the Naval Criminal Investigative Service officers outside door three enter the room.”
The double doors opened instantly. Four special agents in dark suits, their federal badges clipped to their belts, stepped into the conference room. The lead agent carried two sets of steel handcuffs.
Derek backed away from the table, his knees knocking against his chair, his hands coming up in front of his chest like a child trying to ward off a blow.
“Mara!” he cried, looking at me, his eyes wide and leaking tears of pure terror. “Mara, please! You know me! I’m not a criminal! I’m the man you were going to marry! Tell them! Tell them this was just a mistake! We can fix this! I’ll resign from Halston! We can take the house in Annapolis and leave! Mara, please!”
I stood at the podium, perfectly still.
I looked at the man who, twelve hours ago, had stood in a ballroom full of powerful people and called me half a woman to make himself feel tall. I looked at the man who had laughed while I struggled on a carpet, who had spent three years treating my service, my scars, and my survival as an embarrassing secret to be managed.
“Derek,” I said softly.
He stopped, a spark of desperate, pathetic hope flickering in his wet eyes. “Yes, baby? Yes?”
“I spent ten years wondering why that shaft broke,” I said, my voice completely calm, completely clear. “I spent ten years learning how to walk again, learning how to look in a mirror without hating what was missing, thinking it was just bad luck. A rogue fracture. The cost of doing business.”
I picked up my briefcase and clicked the latches shut.
“It wasn't bad luck, Derek. It was greed. And you don't get to run a charity operation with the United States Navy anymore.”
The lead NCIS agent stepped behind Derek, grabbed his right wrist with a practiced, fluid motion, and snapped the steel cuff around the gold watch Derek had bought himself to celebrate the contract.
Derek let out a high, broken sob as the second cuff clicked shut.
“Derek Halston,” the agent said, reciting the words with the mechanical boredom of a man who had done this a hundred times. “You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit procurement fraud against the United States, making false statements to a federal agency, and reckless endangerment under the Uniform Code of Military Justice...”
They dragged him out. His leather shoes scuffed helplessly against the carpet, his tears leaving dark spots on his bespoke silk tie, his voice trailing down the hallway in a series of muffled, desperate shrieks until the double doors swung shut, cutting him off from the room forever.
Julian Halston stood up, buttoned his jacket with trembling fingers, and walked toward the door flanked by two agents who didn't touch him, but stayed close enough to catch him if he stumbled.
Before he reached the exit, Julian stopped beside the podium. He didn't look at Admiral Reddick. He looked at me.
“You destroyed a seventy-year-old company today, Commander,” Julian whispered, his face gray as ash.
May you like
“No, Julian,” I answered, meeting his cold gaze without blinking. “You destroyed it ten years ago in the Sulu Sea. I just delivered the salvage report.”
***
