He poured us wine and casually asked whether I thought the program would survive.
I told him I couldn’t discuss it.
He smiled and said he understood.
The following morning, one of Meridian’s subcontractors began moving employees off the project.
At the time, I assumed the industry rumor mill was moving independently.
Now I looked at Levin.
“He asked general questions.”
“How general?”
I told her.
She took notes.
Admiral Keane remained silent.
Then Levin slid a photocopied email across the table.
The sender address was Richard’s.
I didn’t recognize the recipient.
The subject line read:
***Need clarity before Claire’s report lands.***
For a second, I forgot to breathe.
Levin pointed to a paragraph.
I read it.
Richard had written:
***She won’t tell me directly, but based on travel and her mood, I’m convinced the review is worse than expected.***
He had never obtained classified information from me.
But he had watched me.
Studied my behavior.
Used our marriage as an intelligence source.
Another line read:
***If your people can verify whether Whitmore is recommending suspension, we can position before the announcement.***
Whitmore.
Not Claire.
Not my wife.
***Whitmore.***
I looked up.
“When did you get this?”
“Two weeks ago,” Levin said. “It was recovered during a separate compliance review.”
“Is Richard under investigation?”
“I can’t discuss the full scope.”
That was answer enough.
I sat down.
For the first time all day, the medal around my neck felt heavy.
Keane spoke quietly.
“Claire, you did nothing wrong.”
“I know.”
And I did know.
But knowing I wasn’t responsible didn’t make the betrayal any smaller.
Levin gathered the documents.
“We may need a formal interview later.”
“I’ll cooperate.”
When I left the room, Richard was waiting.
