He looked at me, then at Cole, and finally at Merritt.

“What is the meaning of this?” Albright asked.

“General,” Merritt said, stepping forward.

“We have reason to believe the documents Colonel Harrington submitted are incomplete.”

Albright’s eyes narrowed.

He looked at me.

“Eleanor,” he said softly.

“Your father was a good friend.”

“He was,” I said.

“And he didn’t do what they are accusing him of.”

“He tried to stop them.”

Cole stepped forward, his leather notebook in hand.

“I have the signed authorizations right here, General,” Cole said.

“They are dated six months before Arthur Vale’s death.”

“If this goes to a public trial, I will have no choice but to enter them into the record.”

“The press will have a field day.”

Albright looked at the notebook, then at me.

The silence in the room was heavy.

I could hear the tick of the grandfather clock in the corner.

My phone vibrated in my pocket again.

I reached in and pulled it out.

A new message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.

I looked down at the text, and my heart stopped.