Not disgrace.
Not washed out.
Commander.
My mother made a small sound.
Grant’s jaw tightened so hard I saw the muscle jump.
Rachel Voss nodded.
“Commander Moore, are you currently serving?”
“Yes.”
“In what capacity?”
Grant’s attorney shot up.
“Objection, Your Honor. National security concerns.”
The judge looked over his glasses.
“Ms. Voss?”
Rachel did not blink.
“We will not elicit classified details, Your Honor. Only general service verification relevant to the fraud charged in Counts One through Nine.”
The judge nodded.
“Proceed carefully.”
Rachel turned back to me.
“Commander Moore, without discussing classified information, can you describe your general current status?”
“I am an active-duty Navy officer assigned to a federal interagency review unit involving disaster recovery, procurement integrity, and contractor verification.”
Rachel waited half a beat.
“Did your duties bring Harbor Shield Recovery to your attention?”
“Yes.”
Grant looked down.
That was the first time he looked away.
Not when I walked in.
Not when I said Commander.
When I said Harbor Shield Recovery.
Because my uniform hurt his pride.
But that company threatened his freedom.
Rachel picked up the first exhibit.
“Commander Moore, do you recognize the defendant, Grant Moore?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know him?”
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