Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
KODIAK
The federal holding facility in Alexandria was a concrete building with no windows on the ground floor and a parking lot ringed by diesel generators.
We arrived at eight on Sunday morning. Brenna had arranged the visit through Soledad, and the paperwork was waiting at the front desk when we checked in.
Emma hadn’t said much on the drive. She’d spent most of it staring out the passenger window, with a legal pad in her lap and a pen she hadn’t used. Whatever she planned to say to Derek, she’d worked it out in her head. The pad was a prop.
A corrections officer led us down a corridor to an interview room with a metal table, four chairs, and a camera mounted in the corner, near the ceiling. The fluorescent lights buzzed at a frequency that set my nerves on edge.
“I want to go in alone,” Emma said.
“That’s not happening.”
“Coleman.”
“I’ll sit in the corner. I won’t say a word unless I have to. But you’re not going in there without me.”
When she dipped her chin, I pulled a chair a few feet from the table and waited for her to sit down first.
They brought Mansfield in two minutes later.
He was wearing the facility’s orange jumpsuit, his hair was uncombed, and it appeared he hadn’t slept.
Thirty-six hours ago, he’d been in charge of security for the US Treasury.
Now, he was a man in a jumpsuit, being led to a chair where a corrections officer told him to sit.
He settled across from Emma and rested one hand on top of the table.
“Emma,” he said.
“Derek, I need to tell you something, and I need you to listen to all of it before you respond,” she said.
He agreed without speaking.
“Three weeks ago, I found irregularities in VA disbursement records. Millions of dollars being routed through fake nonprofits that claim to serve veterans. The money moves through NGOs into shell companies, gets layered through offshore accounts, and is siphoned into organizations that have tax-exempt status, convincing websites, and pass all of Treasury’s vetting checkpoints.
Except none are the charities the money is intended to go to. ”
Mansfield’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth, and she raised her hand.
“I’m not finished. Since I began looking into it, someone broke into my townhouse, left a device in my kitchen intended to look like a bomb, and stole documents I’d compiled on the fraud.
Then they cut my brake lines, and I was in a car accident that put me in the hospital.
While I only suffered a concussion and bruised ribs, I have no doubt the perpetrator meant for me to die. ”
Mansfield lost what little color had been in his cheeks.
“Someone inside Treasury is stealing from the people you and my father served with, and that same person, or someone connected to them, has been trying to kill me. That is what I’ve been dealing with while you were building surveillance systems to protect yourself.”
Mansfield’s confusion wasn’t performed. The slack jaw, the unfocused stare—none of it looked rehearsed.
“Why didn’t you come to me?” he asked.
Emma’s eyes scrunched. “You were my primary suspect.”
“Of course I was.”
“Your surveillance system, the altered archive, the offshore money. All of it pointed at you. We spent days building a case against you, and each piece of evidence fit. It wasn’t until yesterday that we realized your system wasn’t watching the VA accounts at all.”
“I didn’t know about any of this, Emma. I swear to you.”
“I believe you. That’s why I’m here and not someone from the DOJ.”
The look on his face changed when her reason for being here dawned on him.
“I need your help,” she said. “I need access to your administrator credentials and the filter configurations you built for the surveillance system.”
“Everything I suppressed was to keep anyone from looking at the Hartwell archives. I never targeted specific alerts related to disbursements or VA accounts.”
“That’s the problem. You buried everything so that nothing drew attention to your section. That means legitimate alerts about other activity got buried along with it.”
“Understood.”
“So you’ll provide what I’m asking for?”
“I will.”
“There’s one more thing. The volume of suppressed alerts has most likely increased in the last few weeks. More flags being generated, more activity being buried by your filters. Were you aware?”
He was quiet for several seconds. “Yes.”
“Tell me what you saw.”
“About a month ago, the alert volume began climbing. Not dramatically, but enough for me to catch it because I was monitoring the suppression logs to make sure the system was functioning. I didn’t investigate.
I couldn’t afford to, because looking at anything meant risking someone asking why the chief of security was digging through his own suppression filters. ”
“But you saw the increase.”
“I did. I told myself it was system noise. Seasonal fluctuations, new software deployments, routine database maintenance generating false positives. I had an explanation for each spike, and I never verified a single one of them.”
“A month ago is when I started pulling VA disbursement records,” Emma said.
Mansfield held her stare. “You think the increase was because whoever is running the fraud noticed you were looking and started moving faster.”
“That’s exactly what I think. They were generating more activity because they were covering their tracks, and your suppression system was burying the evidence of that activity as fast as they created it.”
“Jesus, Emma.”
“No, Derek.” She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. “You don’t get to be horrified when your system is the reason they’ve been invisible.”
He didn’t defend himself or try to explain. He waited, as though he knew what she’d say next.
“My father trusted you,” she said. “You sat on our porch on Saturdays when he was at his worst, and you helped hold him together. My mother counted on you. I counted on you. When it mattered most, when doing your job could have saved lives, you chose the other direction. Over and over again, for years, because it was easier than facing what you’d done. ”
“I know.”
“Do you understand what your negligence cost? Not Hartwell alone. Not only the people who died because of his actions. Veterans who need help aren’t getting it, because the money meant for them is disappearing into shell companies instead. Vets like my father.”
“I’ll cooperate fully,” he said. “Whatever you need. I’ll give testimony. I’ll walk them through every filter I built and every alert I suppressed. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you find whoever is doing this.”
“You aren’t doing this for me, Derek. There are thousands of veterans who have been compromised in part by your actions. You owe them.” She pulled a pen from her bag and pushed the legal pad in front of him. “Give me what I need to stop these people.”
He jotted a few notes I was sitting too far away to be able to read. When he returned the pen and paper, Emma stood.
I pressed the button to alert the corrections officer that we were ready to leave.
He led us down the corridor to the front desk. Emma signed out, handed her visitor badge to the clerk, and walked into the parking lot without stopping.
She made it into the passenger side of the SUV before her hands began to shake. I reached over and covered them with mine.
“You did well, Emma,” I said.
“I hope it’s enough.”
“I believe it will be.” I started the engine and left the parking structure. Emma sent photos of what Derek had written on the notepad to Alice, then called her.
“He’s cooperating.” She ended the call and set the phone in her lap.
We didn’t talk for the rest of the drive.
We went for a run when we returned to the house. She pushed harder than she had before, running until her legs gave out. There was no more mention of the work she wanted to catch up on, no mention of her father or the man she’d confronted at the detention center.
Monday morning, I drove us into DC. Emma was dressed and ready before I’d finished my coffee. She’d been awake long before I found her in the kitchen.
I parked in the garage and killed the engine, but she made no move to get out.
“Today is going to be long,” she said.
“I know.”
We came off the elevator and were greeted by a woman with dark hair, wearing a fitted blazer. Folders were arranged in the tray on Darla’s desk, and she stood when she saw us approach.
“Ms. Sinclair? I’m Marlene Thessen. HR gave me access to review Mrs. Keene’s notes and calendar system. I should be up to speed by this afternoon.”
Emma shook her hand. “Thank you, Marlene. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Your first meeting is at nine-fifteen. I’ve got the files you’ll need. Also, Naomi Hale’s office called twice before eight. They’d like you to come up as soon as you’re settled.”
Emma glanced at me. “I’ll go now.”
We turned around to leave, and when my eyes met Luke’s, I wondered how long he’d been here. He gave me a head nod, and I returned it, then followed Emma to the stairwell.
Naomi’s office door was closed when we arrived on the fourth floor.
“I’m Emma Sinclair, here to see Ms. Hale.”
The woman seated at the desk picked up her phone, alerted Hale of our arrival, then stood to let us into her office. Rather than wait outside like I had before, I followed Emma in.
“Tell me what happened,” Naomi began, not bothering with a greeting.
“Derek Mansfield was arrested Saturday night. The FBI, authorized by the DOJ through the federal prosecutor assigned to the case, took him into custody, and he’s being held at the Alexandria facility.”
“I was made aware. What I haven’t been told are the specific charges.”
“Tampering with classified documents, accepting payments from a foreign intelligence service, and obstruction related to the investigation on former secretary Hartwell.”
Naomi set her glasses on her desk and rubbed her temples. “Hartwell.” She spat the name more than said it. “So, what did Mansfield do to help the sonuvabitch?”