Naomi pressed her feet against the floor and took several slow breaths.
She had experienced frightening situations during her naval career. She had advised commanders during deployments, worked through emergencies, and helped junior service members after traumatic events.
She understood that being professionally competent did not make a person immune to fear.
But understanding something intellectually was different from experiencing it.
Yesterday, she had been alone on a road with a man carrying a weapon who seemed to grow angrier every time she asked him to explain his decisions.
She had remained composed because she believed composure might keep the situation from becoming worse.
Now, in her childhood bedroom, she could admit that she had been afraid.
She checked her phone.
There were several messages.
One from her commanding officer, who had received the initial notification about the incident.
Another from a Navy colleague asking whether she needed anything.
A third from a civilian attorney recommended by a friend.
The attorney's name was Janelle Parker.
Naomi had met her at a legal conference two years earlier.
Parker specialized in civil-rights litigation and public accountability cases.
Her message was brief.
I heard what happened. I'm available to talk whenever you're ready. You don't have to handle this alone.
Naomi stared at the words.
She had spent years helping other people navigate complicated situations.
She was accustomed to being the professional who explained procedures.
The person who knew which questions to ask.
The person who remained calm.
Now she was the injured driver.
The person whose valid documents had been destroyed.
The person who needed assistance.
She typed a response.
Thank you. Can we speak this morning?
Then she put down the phone and went downstairs.
Isaiah was already in the kitchen.
He wore reading glasses and was standing beside the stove, preparing eggs.
"Morning, baby."
Naomi smiled.
"Morning."
"Coffee?"
"Please."
He poured a cup.
She sat at the table.
The thick folder remained where they had left it the night before.
Isaiah noticed her looking at it.
"I didn't touch anything."
"Thank you."
He placed a plate in front of her.
"Eat first."
Naomi laughed softly.
"Dad."
"Don't 'Dad' me. Eat."
She picked up her fork.
For ten minutes, they talked about ordinary things.
The neighbor's new dog.
A broken fence panel.
A church fundraiser.
The weather.
Then Naomi looked toward the folder.
"All right."
Isaiah put down his coffee.
"Ready?"
She nodded.
"Let's find out what Leonard was documenting."