I did not pull out a weapon.

I pulled out my military identification card and held it under the beam of the sedan’s headlights.

He squinted at the plastic card in my hand.

His eyes widened as he read the print.

“Colonel Allison Monroe,” he read aloud.

“Army Counterintelligence,” he whispered.

He looked up at me, his face pale in the headlights.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“I have been a counterintelligence officer for fifteen years, Grant,” I said.

“Long before I ever met you.”

The wind howled through the pines surrounding the estate.

“Our entire marriage,” he said, his voice cracking.

“It was a lie?”

“Your family’s logistics company has been moving classified military technology to foreign adversaries for a decade,” I said.

“I didn’t marry you for the Monroe name, Grant.”

“I married you because the Department of Defense needed eyes inside your mother’s boardroom.”

He stumbled backward a step on the loose gravel.

“You set us up,” he said.

“No,” I said.

“You set yourselves up when you signed those contracts with Beijing.”

“I just watched.”