David’s first interview after the deck incident was not rage.
It was certainty.
He sat in the ship’s security office with his wrists restrained to the table and stared at Olsen like a man convinced history had already decided in his favor. His uniform was still neat. His face was pale, but his voice was controlled.
“She brought a grenade onto a carrier,” David said.
Olsen sat across from him.
“After you pushed her into the sea.”
David’s jaw tightened. “I tried to stop her.”
“By kicking her over the rail?”
“She was moving toward restricted cargo.”
“She was facing the loose net.”
“You have one angle.”
“I have three.”
David’s eyes flickered.
Not much.
Enough.
Olsen opened a folder and placed the first photo on the table: Lexa in the water, holding the grenade above the surface, mouth open as she shouted.
David leaned back.
“That’s your proof.”
“No,” Olsen said. “That is your plan.”
David’s expression hardened.
“She was going to throw it.”
“Why would she hold it high enough for cameras to see the serial number?”
“To make herself look innocent.”
“She was drowning.”
“She knew what she was doing.”
Olsen studied him for a long moment.
That was the hardest part about David Cross. He was not lying like a coward. He was lying like a believer. Somewhere inside him, the version of Lexa as murderer had become so necessary that every fact bent toward it.
“Who told you she would be carrying it?” Olsen asked.
David did not answer.
“I did not ask who gave it to you. I asked who told you she would be carrying it.”
David’s face shifted.
That was the first real mistake.
Olsen had guessed the structure correctly. David had not planted the grenade alone. He had been told where it would be, or told to make sure it was there, or told that if Lexa fell, the object would prove what he already believed.
David looked away.
Olsen leaned forward.
“You thought today would finally show everyone what you believed she was.”
“She is the reason my family is dead.”
“No.”
David’s eyes snapped back.
Olsen held his gaze.
“No, Commander. She is not.”
For the first time, David’s certainty cracked into something raw.
“You don’t get to say that.”
“I do if the record was altered.”
David’s mouth tightened.
Olsen watched the words reach him.
Not convince him.
Reach him.
“What record?”
“Harbor Sable.”
David stood so abruptly the restraints hit the table.
“Do not use my wife to protect her.”
Olsen’s voice stayed low.
“Your wife tried to protect her.”
David froze.
The room went silent.
Olsen did not play the recording yet.
He only said, “Mara left a message.”
David stared at him.
And for one second, revenge lost its balance.