The review board convened in the east wing meeting room.
Not the wine cellar — that was the clean room, the strategy room, the room that had held the compound's most private deliberations. The meeting room was formal. Long table, high windows, the specific atmosphere of a space designed for the weight of official proceedings.
Cole had prepared the documentation.
Marcus had prepared himself — not with performance, with the specific honesty of someone who has decided that the only viable option is the complete truth and has organized it accordingly.
I was not in the room.
This was Marcus's testimony. His accountability. The full picture offered by someone who understood that a partial picture was the same as a lie.
I was in the kitchen.
Neva was at the gate.
Not leaving — the clarifi
