For him.
“Richard, have you ever wondered why I kept my surname professionally?”
He frowned.
“You said publication continuity.”
“That was part of it.”
“What was the other part?”
“I didn’t want my career absorbed into yours.”
He scoffed.
“That’s exactly the kind of dramatic nonsense—”
“Dr. Whitmore?”
A woman’s voice interrupted us.
We turned.
A woman in a dark suit stood several yards away.
I recognized Mara Levin, deputy inspector general for acquisition oversight.
Richard recognized her too.
His shoulders stiffened.
“Ms. Levin.”
“Mr. Hale.”
She offered him no smile.
Then she looked at me.
“Dr. Whitmore, could I speak with you privately?”
Richard answered first.
“About what?”
Levin ignored him.
I followed her into a small side room.
Admiral Keane was already there.
So was a Navy attorney.
My stomach tightened.
Levin shut the door.
“Dr. Whitmore, this is unrelated to today’s recognition, but the timing is unfortunately unavoidable.”
She placed a thin folder on the table.
“We are reviewing communications involving Meridian Strategic Systems and several subcontractors connected to the Sentinel investigation.”
I remained standing.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Possibly nothing.”
She opened the folder.
“There was an attempt three years ago to obtain restricted information about the review team’s preliminary findings.”
Something cold moved through my chest.
“What kind of attempt?”
“A consultant contacted a former Navy program employee and offered compensation for internal technical summaries.”
I knew what question was coming.
Levin watched me carefully.
“Did you ever discuss Sentinel findings with your husband before the report became public?”
“No.”
“Did he ever ask?”
I thought back three years.
Richard had suddenly become unusually curious about my travel schedule.
He asked whether my work in Norfolk involved “the unmanned fleet mess.”
At the time, I assumed he had heard industry rumors.
Then there had been dinner one Thursday evening.
