Across the room, the Christmas fire cracked and shifted. Gold ornaments trembled on the twelve-foot tree. Champagne bubbles rose silently in abandoned glasses.
My children stood behind me now, four small bodies pressed close enough that I could feel their breaths through my coat.
Noah, who had asked the question that split the room open, looked confused by the fear in the adults’ faces.
Ethan had gone quiet, which meant he was watching everything.
Sophia’s fingers curled around mine.
Olivia whispered, “Mama, did we do something wrong?”
I bent slightly and touched her cheek. “No, baby. You told the truth by existing.”
Daniel flinched at that.
The investigator nearest the table, Captain Marcus Hale, removed his gloves with deliberate care. He had worked internal investigations for seventeen years. Nothing in his expression gave away emotion, but his eyes missed nothing.
“Colonel Daniel Reynolds,” he said, “we need to ask you several questions regarding documents connected to your divorce proceedings, your overseas transfer requests, and the communications you claimed never to have received.”
