Chapter 2 - The Number Beneath the Lining
I stared at the black case.
The same number hidden beneath the lining of my destroyed jacket.
Alexander saw my expression.
“You recognize it.”
It wasn't a question.
I lowered my voice.
“It was written inside my uniform.”
My father's head snapped toward me.
“What?”
“Under the lining.”
Dad took one step backward.
Alexander moved subtly between us.
Not threatening.
Protective.
The colonel approaching from the driveway was a woman in her late forties named Colonel Sarah Mitchell. I recognized her from two military medical conferences, though we had never worked directly together.
She carried the case with both hands.
Behind her walked another officer and a civilian attorney.
Mom stared through the open door.
“What is this?”
Nobody answered.
Colonel Mitchell entered.
“Major Carter.”
“Colonel.”
She glanced at Alexander.
“Sir.”
Alexander nodded.
“Is it complete?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dad closed his eyes.
That frightened me more than anything else.
“What is complete?” I asked.
Alexander looked at my father.
“Richard?”
Dad remained silent.
“Dad?”
Finally, he opened his eyes.
“You should go to the hotel.”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“You've spent twelve years deciding what I should know. That's over.”
Mom stepped forward.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
Dad turned on her.
“Patricia, stop.”
She froze.
I had never heard my father speak to her like that.
Alexander touched my elbow.
“Emily, the case isn't something we should open here.”
“Why?”
“Because some of the material requires controlled handling.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does it have to do with my father?”
Colonel Mitchell answered.
“Carter Aerospace.”
Dad looked away.
My father's company supplied specialized medical transport systems, field stabilization equipment, and communications components to defense contractors.
I had deliberately avoided learning much about it.
Dad had wanted Lucas and me in the company.
Lucas eventually joined.
I chose medicine.
Then the Army.
“Why would the Army have a sealed file about Carter Aerospace?” I asked.
Nobody answered quickly enough.
I looked at Alexander.
“You knew.”
“I knew there was a review.”
“How long?”
“Three weeks.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I wasn't permitted to.”
That hurt.
He saw it.
“This is why I came personally.”
“You told me you came because of my uniform.”
“I did.”
“Alexander.”
His expression softened.
“Both things can be true.”
Mom laughed nervously.
“This is absurd. Richard runs one of the most respected companies in Virginia.”
Colonel Mitchell looked at her.
“Mrs. Carter, nobody has accused anyone in this room of a crime.”
Yet.
She didn't say the word.
She didn't need to.
Dad sat down.
I watched him.
“Tell me what 417 means.”
His hands folded together.
“It was a project designation.”
“What project?”
“Emily—”
“What project?”
“Field medical communications.”
My anger sharpened.
“You told me your company didn't work directly with military medicine.”
“We didn't. Not officially.”
There it was.
Not officially.
Alexander said, “Richard.”
Dad looked at him.
“You should tell her.”
Mom interrupted.
“Tell her what?”
Dad stared at the floor.
“Twelve years ago, Carter Aerospace participated in a subcontracting program.”
“The year I joined,” I said.
He nodded.
“What happened?”
“We discovered defects.”
“What kind?”
Dad hesitated.
Colonel Mitchell answered.
“Communications failures in emergency medical evacuation equipment.”
My stomach dropped.
I had used those systems.
Every military physician had.
“How serious?”
“Potentially fatal.”
I looked at Dad.
“You knew?”
“Not initially.”
“But eventually.”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I reported it.”
Alexander's eyes narrowed.
“That's not the entire story.”
Dad looked at him.
“No.”
Mom moved closer.
“Richard, what are they talking about?”
He ignored her.
“The contractor above us wanted the report buried.”
“Who?”
Dad shook his head.
“I can't—”
Colonel Mitchell set the case on the table.
“You can now.”
She entered a code.
The locks clicked.
Inside were folders.
A hard drive.
Photographs.
And a sealed document.
Across the top:
PROJECT 417.
My name appeared underneath.
MAJ. EMILY CARTER.
I stopped breathing.
“Why is my name there?”
Dad stood.
“That wasn't supposed to happen.”
Alexander's voice became cold.
“What wasn't supposed to happen?”
Dad looked at me.
“Your assignment.”
“What assignment?”
“Afghanistan.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I remembered my first deployment.
The field hospital.
The medevac failures.
The nights we lost communication during transfers.
One helicopter had arrived fourteen minutes late because coordinates had failed to transmit.
A soldier died.
His name was Sergeant Daniel Price.
Twenty-four years old.
New father.
I still remembered his wife's voice on the telephone.
My father whispered, “I tried to keep you away from that system.”
I couldn't speak.
“You interfered with my assignments?”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“I tried. It didn't work.”
“How?”
“I called people.”
My stomach turned.
“You tried to use your company to control my military career?”
“To protect you.”
“No. You don't get to call that protection.”
“Emily—”
“Did Mom know?”
His silence answered.
I turned.
Mom's face had changed.
“You knew?”
She lifted her chin.
“We were trying to bring you home.”
“By sabotaging my career?”
“You didn't belong there.”
I stared at her.
Suddenly the destroyed uniform wasn't an isolated act.
It was simply the latest one.
My mother had spent twelve years trying to erase the person I had chosen to become.
But something still didn't fit.
“Why destroy the uniform today?”
Mom looked confused.
“To make you stop wearing it.”
“No.”
I lifted the torn jacket.
“Someone cut through the lining exactly where 417 was written.”
Dad stared.
Mom's face emptied.
“I didn't write anything.”
“Who did?”
“I don't know.”
“Who had the scissors?”
“Marlene.”
Everyone turned.
Aunt Marlene's wineglass stopped halfway to her mouth.
She slowly lowered it.
“Don't look at me like that.”
Mom frowned.
“You said you were helping.”
“I was.”
“With what?”
Marlene looked toward the front door.
Alexander noticed.
So did I.
“Marlene,” I said.
She stepped backward.
Colonel Mitchell quietly closed the black case.
Marlene's hand began trembling.
“I didn't know what it meant.”
“What?”
“The number.”
Mom stared at her.
“You told me to cut the lining.”
“No.”
“Yes, you did.”
Marlene shook her head.
“I said the jacket looked bulky.”
“You handed me the scissors.”
“Marlene,” I said.
She looked at me.
“Who told you about 417?”
Her face collapsed.
Nobody moved.
Then her phone rang.
She jumped.
Alexander said, “Don't answer it.”
But she already had.
She looked at the screen.
Whatever name appeared there terrified her.
She whispered, “Oh God.”
“Marlene,” I said. “Who is calling?”
She turned the phone toward us.
The contact contained no name.
May you like
Only four words.
HE KNOWS EMILY FOUND IT.
