“Listen to yourself.
You think that uniform makes you important?”
I glanced at the wine running over my ribbons.
“No,” I said.
“The uniform reminds me what I owe other people.”
Then I started counting.
Fifty-two seconds.
Blake adjusted his cuff links and looked around the ballroom, inviting the guests to share his amusement.
Forty-six seconds.
Sophie leaned toward her fiancé and whispered something that made him laugh.
Thirty-eight seconds.
A waiter moved past us with a tray of champagne.
One glass rattled against another.
Twenty seconds.
The room’s laughter had become quieter.
Perhaps someone had noticed that I was not shaking, crying, or arguing.
Perhaps the expression on my face had finally made them uncomfortable.
Ten seconds.
Blake checked his phone.
Six.
My father muttered that he would make sure I never set foot in his house again.
Four.
I straightened my shoulders.
Three.
Blake looked up.
For the first time, he seemed uncertain.
Two.
I met his eyes.
“Your contract was terminated five minutes ago.”
One.
The ballroom doors swung violently inward.
The first agents entered, followed by members of the Army Criminal Investigation Division.
Their boots struck the imported marble in a steady rhythm.
Conversations died in mid-sentence.
A string quartet stopped playing.
A federal agent stepped forward and displayed her credentials.
“Blake Hartwell and Grant Monroe, remain where you are.
We have warrants to execute.”
For a moment, neither man moved.
Then Blake laughed.
It was a brittle, unconvincing sound.
“This is a private event.
Whatever misunderstanding you’ve been told about can be handled by our attorneys.”
The agent did not smile.
“Mr.
Hartwell, you are under arrest in connection with an investigation involving alleged federal contracting fraud, falsified testing records, bribery, and conspiracy.”
The ballroom erupted in whispers.
Blake’s face changed as quickly as if someone had turned off a light.
My father stepped forward.
“You can’t arrest me.
I’m a consultant.
I work with legitimate companies.”
“Mr.
Monroe,” the agent said, “we need you to come with us as well.”
He looked at me.
I had seen that expression before.
It was the look he wore whenever he discovered that someone he considered beneath him had refused to follow his instructions.
“You did this,” he said.
“No,” I answered.
“I reported what I found.”
Blake turned toward me.
“You have no authority to terminate my contract!”
“I’m not the contracting officer,” I replied.
“I didn’t make the final decision.
I supplied the findings that showed your system had serious unresolved failures, and I cooperated with the investigation.
The responsible officials reviewed the evidence and acted.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You’re lying.”
“Then ask your lawyers to explain the notice.”
He pulled out his phone and began calling someone.
No one answered quickly enough to reassure him.
The company’s public relations director, who had been standing beside the stage, was already whispering urgently into her own phone.
Two board members moved away from Blake as though his troubles might spread through physical contact.
My sister remained frozen beside the champagne table.
“Blake?” she whispered.
“Tell them this is a mistake.”
He ignored her.
She tried again, louder this time.
“You told me the Army had approved everything.
You said the contract was guaranteed.”
“Not now, Sophie.”
The words were sharp enough to make her recoil.
I
