Chapter 9
“It’s nice to know you aren’t just a cretin to your employees.”
I glare up at Fox for an uncomfortably long minute—for her—before I unexpectedly admit, “I started young.”
“Yet, you had a solid home life.”
“Like I said, it was difficult for me after my parents died.”
“Was that before or after the events aboard the Sea Force?”
I know we’re about to get into some questions that may make the people on the other side of the glass antsy, even though the events took place almost twelve years ago. “After. Long after.”
“Are they the reason you left black ops?”
“Yes.”
“They died in a car crash?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“They were leaving my home. A semi-truck driver fell asleep at the wheel.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Fox’s voice is almost a rote platitude.
“I’m sorry for our nation’s loss,” I snap, irritated that this agent didn’t do her damn homework before coming in to interrogate me.
Deere murmurs, “Fox. Vitals.”
Fox notes my chest rising and falling, my fury palpable. Her heels snapping against the concrete floor, she makes her way over to Pamola’s desk before flipping to the front dossier in my massive file.
It’s then, and only then she whispers, “Yes, sir. It was a great loss for our country.”