It was from my father again.

*I am outside the Navy Yard gate. I need to speak to you now.*

I looked at the screen, my thumb hovering over the glass.

I tapped the screen and put the phone back in my pocket.

“Miller,” I said.

“Yes, Admiral?”

“My father is at the gate.”

Miller did not raise his eyebrows.

He simply adjusted his grip on my briefcase.

“Do you want me to have security turn him away, ma’am?”

“No,” I said. “I will speak to him.”

The elevator doors slid open into the ground-floor lobby.

The marble floor was polished to a high shine, reflecting the fluorescent lights above.

Two young sailors in working uniforms stood near the desk.

They snapped to attention as I walked past.

I returned their salutes with a brief nod.

The glass doors of the building opened, and the cold afternoon air hit my face.

It was November, and the wind off the Anacostia River carried the smell of brackish water and diesel exhaust.

We walked down the concrete path toward the main gate of the Navy Yard.