“Name the university where I completed my postdoctoral research.”
“Claire—”
“Name the laboratory I directed before we got married.”
“You’re twisting this.”
“Name one paper I’ve published.”
Silence.
People moved through the far end of the corridor.
A Marine officer passed us, gave a polite nod, and continued on.
Richard’s face reddened.
“We have separate careers.”
“We have separate lives.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
He stepped closer.
“So what happens now?”
There it was.
Not an apology.
Not curiosity about the work I had done.
Strategy.
“What do you mean?”
“With Meridian.”
“I don’t control Meridian.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
Richard had built much of his consulting business around relationships with firms involved in naval procurement.
My name was now publicly connected to one of the most damaging technical reviews in recent defense-acquisition history.
He feared his clients would view our marriage as a conflict.
“You’ll have to disclose whatever your agreements require,” I said.
“You could issue a statement.”
“A statement saying what?”
“That your work was independent from mine.”
“It was.”
“That you never discussed Meridian with me.”
“I never did.”
“Then say it publicly.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s no reason to.”
“There is for me.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
That sentence settled something inside me.
***There is for me.***
Not for us.
