Chapter 4 - THE BUSINESSMAN IN 3C
Richard Bellamy called me first.
I hadn't given him my number.
That was problem number one.
The call came at 8:11 the next morning.
“Sergeant Barrett.”
I stood on the cottage porch watching Nora collect shells.
“Who is this?”
“Richard Bellamy.”
Of course.
“How did you get my number?”
“Airline incident report.”
“That information shouldn't have been given to you.”
Pause.
“Our office followed up regarding yesterday's misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding?”
“I want to apologize.”
“For asking staff to move my daughter?”
“I requested an upgrade. I did not select your seats.”
That aligned with what Hale said.
Good.
“I appreciate the clarification.”
Bellamy continued:
“I also understand Captain Hale recognized you.”
My grip tightened.
“He did.”
“I knew Evan.”
There it was.
“How?”
“He worked logistics coordination on several Argent contracts.”
“Did you know him before the attack?”
“Yes.”
“Were you at the convoy loading area?”
Silence.
He knew I had something.
“Why do you ask?”
“Answer.”
“Sergeant—”
“Mr. Bellamy.”
He paused.
“Yes.”
The truth, finally.
“I was there.”
“Why?”
“Contract compliance visit.”
“Did you see unauthorized weapons crates?”
Silence.
Then:
“I think we should meet with counsel present.”
My heartbeat slowed.
Lawyers.
Useful warning light.
“Why counsel?”
“Because you're asking about classified and contractual matters from three years ago.”
“You're a civilian CEO.”
“Correct.”
“So which part is classified?”
No answer.
I almost smiled.
Bellamy said:
“I'll be in Wilmington until tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Business.”
“Convenient.”
“Sergeant Barrett, I don't want hostility between us.”
I looked at Nora.
She held a shell to her ear.
“I don't care about hostility.”
“What do you care about?”
“What happened.”
Long silence.
Then:
“Sometimes what happened is more complicated than the report.”
Finally something we agreed on.
We arranged a meeting at a hotel conference room.
Hale attended.
So did Bellamy's lawyer.
I brought Rachel Kim, a veterans' rights attorney recommended by Hale.
Rachel had represented whistleblowers and injured service members.
She was thirty-eight, blunt, and told me before entering:
“Do not threaten anyone.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“You have a military jaw.”
“What does that mean?”
“You look like you're planning to.”
Fine.
Bellamy arrived in the same navy suit style.
Maybe wealthy men came from factories with three colors.
He looked at my prosthetic.
Then away.
“Sergeant.”
“Mr. Bellamy.”
Rachel began.
“We're here because Mr. Barrett has received new information suggesting his after-action report may be incomplete or inaccurate.”
Bellamy's lawyer replied:
“Argent Horizon does not control military reporting.”
“Correct.”
Rachel continued.
“But Mr. Bellamy was present during loading.”
Bellamy leaned back.
“I was.”
“What cargo?”
“Communications systems.”
“Any weapons?”
“No.”
I placed Evan's photograph on the table.
He looked.
No visible reaction.
Rachel pointed.
“These crates do not match Argent communication container specifications.”
Bellamy's lawyer said:
“You're assuming from photograph.”
Rachel smiled.
“That's why we're asking.”
Bellamy looked at me.
“Evan told you weapons?”
“He told his father.”
Bellamy closed his eyes briefly.
Then:
“Evan should never have seen those crates.”
The room froze.
His attorney turned.
“Richard.”
Too late.
“What were they?”
Bellamy rubbed his forehead.
“Prototype counter-drone systems.”
“Weapons.”
“Defensive systems.”
“Unmanifested.”
“Yes.”
There.
“Why?”
“Export authorization delay.”
Hale stared.
“You moved military hardware without completed authorization?”
Bellamy looked sick.
“Rourke said temporary battlefield relocation fell under operational exception.”
“Did it?”
Rachel asked.
Bellamy's lawyer interrupted:
“This meeting is over.”
Bellamy ignored him.
“No.”
His attorney stared.
“Richard.”
“No.”
Bellamy looked at me.
“I have spent three years pretending I didn't know what happened afterward.”
There it was.
Not villain confidence.
Cowardice.
Maybe worse.
“Rourke approved the movement,” he said.
“Why?”
“Argent needed field-performance data before a procurement review.”
Hale swore.
My stomach turned.
“You used an active convoy to test undeclared equipment?”
“It wasn't supposed to be used.”
“Then why transport it?”
“Exposure conditions.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“And after the attack?”
Bellamy looked at my leg.
“The secondary detonation compromised the crates.”
“That explosion injured me.”
“Yes.”
“Did the device cause it?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Battery fire contributed.”
Contributed.
A word corporations use when causation is expensive.
Bellamy continued:
“Rourke told us if unauthorized cargo became central to the casualty report, every program connected to Argent would freeze.”
“So he altered it.”
“I don't know who altered the report.”
“But you knew it was incomplete.”
“Yes.”
My vision narrowed.
“You let them say I disobeyed orders.”
Bellamy swallowed.
“Yes.”
Hale stood so fast his chair moved.
Rachel held up a hand.
He stayed.
Bellamy said:
“I am sorry.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
“Sorry?”
“I was afraid the company would collapse.”
“What about Evan?”
His face broke.
“I visited him.”
Hale froze.
“What?”
“In Germany.”
“You never told me.”
“Evan asked me not to.”
Hale's expression changed.
Bellamy continued:
“He told me to tell the truth.”
“And you didn't,” I said.
“No.”
At least no excuse.
Then he slid a flash drive across the table.
“My private archive.”
His lawyer whispered:
“You cannot—”
Bellamy pushed it toward Rachel.
“Emails. Loading documents. Rourke messages. Everything I kept.”
“Why now?”
He looked at me.
“Because yesterday I watched a man I helped wrong quietly give up a first-class seat so his daughter wouldn't see him fight.”
He looked away.
“And I realized I have spent three years calling cowardice risk management.”
Silence.
May you like
I did not forgive him.
But I took the drive.
