Chapter 5 - The Dinner I Should Have Remembered
By noon, my husband had called eleven times.
I answered none of them.
Agent Hale had instructed me not to destroy anything, not to confront anyone about the review, and to report any attempt to pressure me or obtain protected information.
She also made it clear that these precautions did not establish Mitchell's guilt.
I appreciated that.
I needed facts.
Not permission to be angry.
At one-thirty, I was released from the interview and returned to my office.
My deputy, Lieutenant Colonel Andrea Collins, was waiting outside.
Andrea had worked with me for four years.
She was forty-two, sharp-eyed, and possessed the rare talent of recognizing nonsense before it became a formal proposal.
She took one look at my face.
"You're having a terrible day."
"That's one way of describing it."
She handed me a coffee.
"Black."
"Thank you."
"Want me to close your door?"
"Please."
Inside, I sat down and opened my notebook.
I had an official responsibility to separate work questions from my personal emotions.
So I made two lists.
The first contained matters relevant to the security review.
The second contained things I needed to confront in my marriage.
The first list was short.
Dates.
Names.
Known meetings.
Approved access.
The second was considerably longer.
Three years of jokes that weren't jokes.
Three years of speaking softly because Mitchell said I embarrassed him when I sounded too sure of myself.
Three years of watching him congratulate other women for accomplishments similar to mine while dismissing my work as administrative support.
And one particular dinner.
Four months earlier.
The evening Nathaniel Price came to our house.
I closed my eyes.
The memory returned in fragments.
Price had arrived carrying an expensive bottle of wine.
He wore a tailored charcoal suit and a smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Mitchell had spent the afternoon checking the menu, arranging the table, and asking whether I planned to wear something other than my ordinary clothes.
I'd changed into a blue dress.
Not because he asked.
Because I liked it.
At dinner, Price had talked about defense consulting, supply-chain resilience, and new opportunities for retired senior officers.
He complimented Mitchell repeatedly.
"You've got exactly the kind of operational background we value."
Mitchell had practically glowed.
Then Price turned toward me.
"And Colonel Merrick, you're in logistics?"
"Yes."
"Large-scale planning?"
"Among other responsibilities."
"Mitchell says you're excellent with data."
I remembered the way Mitchell laughed.
"Excellent doesn't begin to cover it."
He lifted his wineglass.
"Sloane can make a spreadsheet do everything except wash the dishes."
Price laughed politely.
I didn't.
He noticed.
"What kinds of planning systems are you working with?"
I gave him a broad description of my unclassified functional responsibilities.
He asked a second question.
Something about whether the emergency distribution models developed during the overseas evacuation had been adapted for domestic use.
That question had caught my attention.
The specific framework he mentioned wasn't public.
Not in the form he described.
I told him I couldn't discuss operational planning details at dinner.
He raised both hands.
"Of course."
Mitchell rolled his eyes.
"Careful, Nate."
He smiled at Price.
"She's going to classify the mashed potatoes."
I remembered how hot my face felt.
Price changed the subject.
At the time, I assumed he was simply an aggressive businessman asking too many questions.
Now I remembered something else.
Near the end of dinner, Price had asked whether the evacuation planning framework had been developed entirely by my office or whether other organizations possessed copies.
I gave him no details.
Later, while I was cleaning the kitchen, I heard him talking to Mitchell in the study.
The door wasn't fully closed.
Price said, "She doesn't realize what that system is worth."
Mitchell answered, "Trust me, she knows how to make herself indispensable."
I had stopped carrying a plate.
Then Price said something I had almost forgotten.
"Indispensable isn't the same as impossible to replace."
I had assumed they were discussing corporate hiring.
I should have remembered.
Not because the conversation proved wrongdoing.
Because Price had been unusually interested in information I was responsible for protecting.
I opened my notebook and wrote down every detail.
Then I called Agent Hale through the approved number.
She listened.
Asked follow-up questions.
And thanked me.
At five-thirty, I left work.
I did not go home.
I went to a hotel recommended through the security office, paid with my own money, and notified the appropriate people where I could be reached.
I told Mitchell by text that I needed space and would contact him to discuss personal matters when appropriate.
His response arrived immediately.
You're making this worse.
I read it once.
Then turned off the notification.
At seven, my sister Delma called.
Delma was an elementary school principal in Virginia, three years older than me, and the one person in my family who had never been impressed by Mitchell's uniform.
"Tell me you're sitting down," she said.
"I am."
"Good."
A pause.
"I saw the ceremony."
I smiled despite myself.
"The public broadcast?"
"Somebody sent me the clip."
"And?"
"And I cried into my dinner."
I laughed.
Then she grew quiet.
"Sloane, are you okay?"
I looked at the unfamiliar hotel room.
At the curtains.
At the small lamp beside the bed.
At the suitcase containing two changes of clothes.
"I'm not sure."
Delma waited.
She'd always been good at that.
"Something's happening with Mitchell," I said.
"Something new?"
The question was gentle.
That made it hurt more.
"I can't discuss details."
"Then don't."
"I don't know what to do."
She took a breath.
"Sloane, can I tell you something?"
"Sure."
"When you married Mitchell, you laughed all the time."
I stared at the wall.
"You still laugh when you're with me," she said.
"But when he's in the room, you look at him before you decide whether something is funny."
I closed my eyes.
I'd never noticed that.
Or maybe I had.
Maybe I'd simply refused to give it a name.
"I don't need you to make any decisions tonight," Delma continued.
"I just want you to remember that the person you were before him is still there."
After we hung up, I sat in silence.
Then I received a message from an official contact number.
Agent Hale wanted to arrange another interview.
She had spoken to Laura Bennett.
And Laura had given investigators something none of us had expected.
A calendar entry.
It showed a private meeting at Sterling Strategic Solutions.
Mitchell Ashcroft.
Nathaniel Price.
And an unnamed participant.
The meeting title was only four words.
Project Merrick Transition Plan.
I read the words twice.
My hands went numb.
Because whatever that title meant, it had been created eight months before the White House ceremony.
May you like
Long before anyone outside official channels was supposed to know I was being considered for a new assignment.
And whatever they had been planning, my name had been at the center of it.
