The screen displayed a short message from my home security application.

“Motion detected: First-floor study, 1404 Ridge Road.”

That was my father’s house, thirty miles outside the city.

It had been locked and empty since his funeral, the utilities kept on only for the alarm system.

I stared at the words until the screen went dark, my thumb resting on the cold glass.

“Well, General?” Cole asked, his voice steady and calm.

He tapped the leather notebook against his palm.

“I have no desire to tarnish the memory of a three-star general,” Cole said.

“But I will not be the sole casualty of a shift in political winds.”

General Albright walked over to his desk, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor.

He did not look at Cole. He looked at the rain streaking the glass of the high window.

“Your father’s signature is on the initial authorization for the logistics transfer in June,” Cole said, looking at me.

“He knew where the funds were going, Eleanor.”

“That is a lie,” I said, my voice quiet.

“He signed the routine transfer,” Cole said. “The courts don’t care about intent. They care about ink.”