The conference room doors opened.
Inside were twelve chairs, a long table, a wall-mounted screen, and portraits of commanders who had all mastered the same severe expression.
Shepard entered first.
Then me.
Then Ethan, Richard, two colonels, a legal officer, the base command sergeant major, and a woman in civilian clothes I recognized instantly.
Margaret Voss.
Department of Defense Inspector General’s office.
She was older than when I’d last seen her. Silver now touched her dark hair, and the lines beside her mouth had deepened.
But her eyes were the same.
Careful. Measuring. Unimpressed by rank.
“Claire,” she said.
“Margaret.”
Richard looked between us.
“You know her too?”
Margaret placed a slim leather folder on the table.
“I know a lot of people, General Calloway. Most of them wish I didn’t.”
Shepard gestured to the chair beside him.
“Sit.”
I remained standing.
“So will I,” he said.
Richard stiffened, caught between protocol and panic.
Ethan finally spoke.
“Claire.”
My name sounded rough in his mouth.
I looked at him.
He searched my face as if the woman he married had suddenly stepped aside and revealed a stranger wearing her skin.
“What is happening?” he asked.
There it was.
Not defense.
Not apology.
A question.
I held up the envelope.
“This arrived yesterday.”
Richard’s eyes sharpened.
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