Chapter 7 - THE GRAVEYARD MEETINGI did not go alone.
I made sure Preston believed I did.
There is a difference.
The cemetery stretched across a hillside beneath heavy gray clouds.
Grandma’s grave was near the eastern wall beneath an enormous oak tree.
I wore a long black coat over a ballistic vest.
My ribs hated both.
Federal agents positioned themselves beyond sight.
Ethan was in a surveillance van two hundred yards away, furious about every element of the plan.
“You are injured,” he reminded me through the earpiece.
“You mentioned that.”
“You should be in bed.”
“You mentioned that too.”
“Claire.”
“Ethan.”
“I married an impossible woman.”
“You knew the warranty terms.”
Static.
Then his reluctant laugh.
Exactly what I needed.
I walked toward Grandma’s grave.
Preston stood beside the headstone.
He looked almost unchanged from family dinners.
Charcoal coat.
Perfect haircut.
Five-thousand-dollar watch.
If I hadn’t known better, I might have thought he was waiting for a business meeting.
“Captain Hart.”
I stopped twenty feet away.
“Preston.”
He smiled.
“Rebecca told you.”
“She told me enough.”
“Rebecca tells whatever keeps her comfortable.”
“You kidnapped her.”
“I protected myself.”
“With handcuffs?”
“She was hysterical.”
There was always a polished word available to men like Preston.
Kidnapping became protection.
Fraud became restructuring.
Violence became misunderstanding.
I looked at Grandma’s headstone.
“What did you do to her?”
His smile faded.
“Nothing.”
“She confronted you.”
“Yes.”
“Then had a stroke two days later.”
“She was eighty-three.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“No.”
For once, he sounded almost offended.
“I never touched Evelyn. Your grandmother terrified me.”
I believed that.
Grandma had terrified better men.
“Where’s the drive?”
“Safe.”
“Give it to me.”
“I need immunity.”
I almost laughed.
“You think I control federal prosecutors?”
“I think you have influence.”
“You really don’t understand the military.”
“I understand power.”
“No. You understand leverage.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Same thing.”
“No.”
That distinction had ruined him.
Power earned through trust could survive exposure.
Leverage disappeared the moment your secrets became public.
Preston reached inside his coat slowly.
Agents tensed in my earpiece.
He removed a flash drive.
Held it between two fingers.
“This can destroy Hart Industrial.”
“If the company deserves to survive, it’ll survive the truth.”
“And your father?”
“He made his choices.”
“Your sister?”
“So did she.”
“Cold.”
“Accountability isn’t cruelty.”
Preston studied me.
“That’s something your father never understood about you.”
I didn’t respond.
“He always thought you left because you were weak.”
“I know.”
“I told him you were dangerous.”
I almost smiled.
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said.”
He looked toward the trees.
“Tell your agents to back off.”
I said nothing.
He laughed.
“Did you really think I couldn’t spot surveillance?”
Then a red dot appeared on my coat.
Laser.
Sniper.
Every muscle in my body locked.
Ethan’s voice exploded in my ear.
“CLAIRE, DOWN!”
Preston looked surprised too.
That mattered.
He hadn’t arranged it.
A gunshot cracked.
I dropped behind the granite headstone.
Preston threw himself sideways.
Agents flooded the cemetery.
Another shot struck the oak tree.
Then silence.
“Shooter west ridge!” someone shouted.
I crawled toward Preston.
He was alive.
His face had lost all arrogance.
“They’re cleaning this up,” he gasped.
“Who?”
“I told you. People above me.”
“Names.”
“I don’t know real names.”
“Then give me something.”
He pressed the flash drive into my palm.
“Halcyon.”
“I know that.”
“No.”
He gripped my wrist.
“You don’t.”
His voice fell.
“Halcyon isn’t the fraud.”
“What?”
“It’s the buyer list.”
My pulse jumped.
“What buyers?”
“Every company. Every broker. Every government middleman who bought the compromised parts.”
My blood turned cold.
“How many?”
“Hundreds.”
The implication was staggering.
Airlines.
Military suppliers.
Commercial manufacturers.
Potentially systems operating around the world.
A suppressed shot cracked.
Preston jerked.
Blood spread across his shoulder.
Agents dragged him behind cover.
“Shooter relocating!”
I clutched the drive.
Ethan reached me seconds later.
He grabbed my shoulders.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He pulled me against him.
My ribs screamed.
I didn’t care.
The sniper escaped.
Preston survived.
Barely.
The drive survived too.
Back at the secure facility, analysts isolated it on an offline system.
Encryption took six hours to break.
When the files finally opened, nobody spoke.
Project Halcyon involved forty-three shell corporations.
Nine countries.
More than seven hundred questionable component shipments.
And a network of executives who had spent years quietly reselling equipment that had failed inspection.
Then Priya found the buyer list.
She scrolled.
Stopped.
“Captain.”
“What?”
“You need to see this.”
On screen was an internal spreadsheet.
One column listed product numbers.
Another listed destinations.
A third contained notes.
Beside twelve transactions appeared the same abbreviation.
CH / AUTHORIZATION
“CH?” Ethan asked.
Priya looked at me.
“Claire Hart.”
I stared.
“Those aren’t mine.”
“We know.”
Then she opened one attached document.
A scanned authorization letter.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
Perfect.
Except it wasn’t mine.
Above it was a government seal.
Also counterfeit.
Preston’s operation hadn’t merely used my identity to hide money.
They had impersonated me as a military procurement officer.
Doyle entered the room.
His face was grim.
“We have another problem.”
“What?”
“One of those Halcyon components has been identified in an aircraft.”
I felt sick.
“Military?”
He shook his head.
“Commercial.”
“Where?”
“Denver.”
“When does it fly?”
May you like
Doyle checked his phone.
“Forty-three minutes.”
