“Imagine what the Oversight Committee will do with these dates.”

Albright let out a long, slow breath that sounded like a sigh.

The room smelled of old paper and the damp wool of our uniforms.

“Arthur would never have approved the diversion of tactical equipment,” Albright said.

“He signed the cover sheet,” Cole said. “That is legally sufficient.”

I looked at the window, my mind racing back to my father’s house.

The security alert was still on my phone.

Why would someone be in the study now?

Only two people had keys: myself and the estate executor, who was currently in Chicago.

“I need twenty-four hours to review this,” Albright said.

“You have until tomorrow morning,” Cole said. “The committee convenes at nine.”

He took his notebook off the desk and tucked it under his arm.

“If the paperwork for my discharge is not signed by then, the documents go to the press.”

Cole turned and looked at me, a faint, cold smile touching his lips.

“It’s good to see you, Eleanor,” he said.

“You look tired.”

He did not wait for an answer.