"I know."
"Your testimony could become central to criminal proceedings."
"I know that too."
He studied me.
"But your previous investigative work remains important, and the team has preserved the records you developed before the stop."
I leaned back.
"Good."
Thomas hesitated.
Then said, "There's something else."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"We're examining communications between Westbrook personnel and a military-connected contracting official."
I looked toward him.
"Who?"
He paused.
"Captain Ellis Ward."
The name hit me like a physical blow.
Ward was a logistics officer I'd interviewed two weeks earlier.
He had presented himself as cooperative.
Professional.
Concerned about the missing equipment.
He had offered to help reconstruct shipment records.
And he'd repeatedly insisted that the discrepancies were probably caused by civilian accounting errors.
I stared at Thomas.
"Ward?"
He nodded.
"He's under investigation. No conclusions yet."
I looked toward the table.
Then remembered something.
During my interview with Ward, I'd asked why several shipments had been diverted to a commercial facility.
He told me that Westbrook Recovery provided temporary storage under an emergency transportation arrangement.
I'd requested the authorizing documentation.
He promised to send it.
He never did.
Now I understood why investigators were examining him.
The information he had provided might have been designed to steer us away from the real problem.
I looked up.
"Does he know about Elise?"
Thomas's expression tightened.
"We're investigating who had access to information that could identify her."
I felt a familiar anger rising.
I wanted to stand.
Walk.
Do something.
Instead, I took a slow breath.
"Thomas, if Ward is involved, somebody may have been feeding the civilian conspirators information from inside the logistics chain."
He nodded.
"That's one possibility."
"And Garrett's stop?"
"Could have been ordered after they learned you met with a source."
I stared.
For a moment, I remembered Ward smiling across the interview table.
He had offered me coffee.
Complimented my professionalism.
And assured me that protecting government property was his highest priority.
I felt sick.
Thomas watched me.
"Renata?"
I looked toward him.
"Did I miss something?"
His expression softened.
"You're asking that because somebody you interviewed may have lied."
I nodded.
He leaned forward.
"Investigators don't control whether people tell the truth. We control how carefully we verify what they say."
I looked down.
He continued.
"You questioned the records. You requested documentation. You pursued independent evidence."
I exhaled slowly.
"Still."
"Still nothing. The case moved forward because you didn't accept the easy explanation."
I wanted to believe him.
But professional betrayal has a particular sting.
It makes you revisit every conversation.
Every expression.
Every assurance.
You begin asking whether the deception was obvious and whether you should have recognized it sooner.
Then Thomas said something that made me look up.