She swallowed.
“I saw exactly what happened, ma'am. If they need a statement, I'll give one.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded, then seemed unsure whether to leave.
“Can I ask something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Was that really your sister?”
“Yes.”
Her expression softened.
“I'm sorry, ma'am.”
I looked toward Delphine.
My sister was speaking rapidly to Agent Rourke, gesturing at me with one hand.
“Don't be,” I said. “You didn't do anything wrong.”
Hollis nodded and returned to her assigned position.
I watched her go.
She was probably nineteen or twenty.
Almost the same age I'd been when I left home.
For a brief moment, I remembered standing in the recruiting office with my enlistment paperwork, feeling as though I were committing some terrible act of betrayal simply by choosing a future Delphine didn't approve of.
I remembered my mother asking why I couldn't find a normal job nearby.
I remembered Delphine laughing when I told her I wanted to make a career in the Navy.
“You?” she'd said. “You'll be home in six months.”
That had been nineteen years ago.
And now I was standing on a pier in Norfolk, responsible for people and work that mattered enormously to me, while my sister was being questioned about a decision she'd made in less than five seconds.
I wondered when I'd stopped needing her approval.
Then I realized I hadn't.
Not completely.
Some small, stubborn part of me had still hoped that one day she'd look at me and feel proud.
That realization hurt more than I expected.
The recovery operation began just before ten.
Harbor patrol positioned a boat alongside the pier while the dive supervisor reviewed the location and current conditions. A second team prepared retrieval equipment.
I kept my distance.
Once the recovery operation was underway, the incident belonged to the personnel assigned to handle it.
I had an inspection to manage.
But before I could rejoin Rosalind, Master Chief Kettleman approached.
“Ma'am, there's something you should know.”
He held a printed access log.
“The catering company submitted its personnel list yesterday. Your sister's name is on the approved list, but her authorization was limited to the event facility and designated delivery area.”
I studied the sheet.
“She had no authorization to enter the operational pier.”
“No, ma'am.”
“How did she get through?”
“Security is reviewing that now. It appears she came through a service access point while contractors were moving equipment.”
“Make sure that review stays focused on the access procedure, not just her actions.”
“Aye.”
He glanced at Delphine.
Then back at me.
“Permission to speak freely?”
“Always.”
“Are you all right?”
It was such a simple question.
I almost answered automatically.
Fine.
Of course I was fine.
I'd handled damaged equipment, emergencies, personnel crises, and operational setbacks that were far more complicated than an angry relative.
But Kettleman had worked with me long enough to recognize the difference between being composed and being unaffected.
“I'm disappointed,” I admitted.
He nodded.
“Understood.”
“She knew it mattered to me. She just didn't care what it was.”
He let that sit for a moment.
Then he said, “Ma'am, she may not have cared. But everybody who watched you handle it knows you did.”
I looked at him.
“Thank you, Master Chief.”
He touched the brim of his cover.
“Ready when you are.”
We returned to the inspection.
And for the next hour, I did what I'd come to Norfolk to do.
We reviewed the condition of mooring hardware, examined maintenance records, and discussed repairs that needed to be completed before the next scheduled waterfront operation.
Rosalind had identified a discrepancy in a contractor's inspection report. I asked her to document it and arrange a follow-up technical review.
We walked through the work.
We asked questions.
We made decisions.
And no matter how often my attention drifted toward the end of the pier, I forced myself to focus on the responsibilities in front of me.
At 11:17, the dive team recovered the bag.
I knew the exact time because I wrote it in my notebook.
The bag was waterlogged and heavy, its leather darkened nearly black.
A diver passed it to the recovery supervisor, who placed it inside a larger containment bag.
The secure tablet was still inside.
So was the inspection binder.
The loose papers had remained together, though several were saturated and badly damaged.
Nothing would be considered safe or uncompromised merely because it had been recovered.
The appropriate security personnel would have to account for every item, evaluate the exposure, and determine what additional action was required.
But the immediate uncertainty about where the materials had gone was over.
Agent Rourke approached shortly afterward.
“Commander, we'll need a formal statement from you.”
“Of course.”
“Your sister has acknowledged throwing the bag.”
I looked at him.
“Did she explain why?”
“She says she believed you were trying to interfere with her catering assignment and wanted to embarrass you.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
The same accusation.
The same explanation.
Even now.
Rourke continued.
“She also claims she didn't believe you when you said the bag contained federal property.”
“She was told directly.”
“We have multiple witnesses confirming that.”
He paused.
“And apparently there's a security camera overlooking this section of the pier.”
I looked toward the warehouse.
A small dome camera was mounted beneath the roofline.
I'd passed it at least a dozen times that morning without thinking about it.
“Does it cover the incident?”
“Security is preserving the footage. We'll confirm the details after review.”
I nodded.
He looked at me for a moment.
“Commander, there's something else.”
“What?”
“Your sister says you threatened to have her arrested because of a family disagreement.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
Rourke watched me carefully.
“I told her to leave a restricted area and warned her about the contents of my bag.”
“That's consistent with what the witnesses have told us.”
“I didn't threaten her with arrest.”
“Understood.”
He closed his notebook.
“I'm not asking you to defend yourself against her allegations. I'm letting you know they're part of her statement.”
I understood immediately.
Everything would be documented.
Not just what Delphine had done.
What she'd claimed afterward.
The words she'd used.
The decisions she'd made when given opportunities to correct herself.
And if the recorded evidence contradicted her account, those contradictions would be preserved too.
I looked across the pier.
Delphine stood beside a security officer, talking on her phone.
She was crying now.
I couldn't hear the conversation.
But I could guess who was on the other end.
Bram.
Her husband.
The man whose name she'd invoked when she accused me of plotting to ruin her day.
He'd never liked me.
We'd met at a family barbecue twelve years earlier, when he was still dating Delphine.
Within twenty minutes of our introduction, he'd asked whether I was “one of those people who joined the military because college was too difficult.”
I'd smiled politely.
Delphine had laughed.
And that had been the beginning of our relationship.
Bram wasn't a cruel man in the loud, obvious way Delphine could be.
He was worse in a quieter sense.
He treated every story she told him as an established fact.
If Delphine said I'd been rude, Bram believed her.
If she claimed I'd ignored our mother, Bram repeated it.
If she said my career was unimpressive, Bram nodded along.
He never once asked me a question that might have complicated the version of me he'd been given.
Now, judging by Delphine's frantic gestures, he was receiving another version of events.
I wondered how long it would take before he contacted me.
The answer was twenty-three minutes.
My personal phone vibrated while I was in a temporary office reviewing the inspection schedule.
The screen displayed his name.
BRAM.
