He Read His Own Email Across The Deposition Table

The court reporter asked Quentin to raise his right hand.

He did it with the same clean motion he used when he greeted a crowd. Then he sat across from Mara in a conference room with no crowd at all.

I sat against the wall. Imani waited outside because her own testimony would come later. She had brought peppermints and called them emergency rations.

Quentin's lawyer placed a yellow pad in front of him.

Mara marked the email and attached watch log as an exhibit.

"Did you receive this message?"

"It appears that I did."

"Is this your reply?"

"Yes."

"Please read it."

He read the words about using my times in the final report.

I kept both feet on the floor.

For years I had imagined him admitting the truth with shame in his voice. Instead, he sounded bored. The words still counted.

"You had this record before your first paid talk for the foundation?" Mara asked.

"Yes."

"And before the exhibit rehearsal?"

"Obviously."

"At rehearsal, you said the trailer records were lost."

"The original book was lost."

"You did not tell the center you held a scan."

"They didn't ask."

Mara placed his speaker statement beside the log. It required notice of known records that contradicted his firsthand account.

"Did you read this before signing it?"

"Yes."

His lawyer asked for a break.

When they returned, Quentin had loosened his tie.

Mara took him through the times. At 20:47, he had left the station. At 21:12, the route went out. At 22:03, the deckhands were ashore. He returned at 23:18.

He disputed none of the entries.

"Where were you during the evacuation?"

"At the inland transport point."

"What assignment took you there?"

He pulled the yellow pad closer.

"I went to secure a place on the next ride inland."

"For whom?"

"Myself."

"Had anyone authorized you to close the station?"

"I didn't close it. Romano was there."

I looked down at my hands. I had known he wanted a ride out. Hearing him say it made the empty chair return in full: the damp cushion, his cold coffee, the headset hanging from its hook while I tried his number again.

Mara turned to the next line in her notes.

"Who relieved you at the station?"

"Romano was qualified to handle the watch."

"Did you tell anyone to relieve you before leaving?"

"I expected to remain available by phone."

"Did you answer the three calls recorded here?"

"No. The signal was poor."

Mara waited until he finished.

"Did you direct the radio traffic described in this log?"

He looked at me for the first time.

"I was responsible for the unit."

"Did you speak those instructions over the radio?"

"No."

My fingers found my wrist. I pressed them flat instead of tapping.

She asked about the final evaluation. Quentin had signed the support-only account after receiving the log. He said it had been a short summary and that many people deserved mention.

"You named yourself in your speeches," Mara said.

His lawyer objected. Mara went back to the document.

"Was the description of Ms. Romano's duty accurate?"

Quentin stared at the page.

"It was incomplete."

That word went into the transcript too.

Imani later answered questions about the barge. She identified her notebook and explained what she heard, what she saw, and what she could not know.

"Could the voice have belonged to Commander Marsh?" his lawyer asked.

"No."

"You were under great stress."

"Yes. Her voice helped with that."

She did not smile.

Afterward, we ate sandwiches in my workshop. Imani unwrapped hers on a clean shipping box.

"Did that feel good?" she asked.

I thought about it.

"It felt clear."

"Clear is good. I worked on boats. We liked clear."

The transcript arrived weeks later. Mara sent the relevant pages to the correction office through its requested process. The foundation received them through the court case.

Ruth completed her audit. She found that the six fees had been paid under accounts Quentin knew did not match the records he held. The report distinguished that finding from the real work his unit had done.

Paul suspended all future foundation bookings with him. Two event hosts canceled talks scheduled for the fall after reviewing the report and giving him a chance to respond.

Quentin still had his retirement pay. No one pretended a private audit could reach into that. What it could reach was the business built around the radio story.

That business began to fold.

His attorney asked for settlement talks. Mara showed me a draft with no hidden payment and no demand that I stop correcting my record.

"We need the final terms in writing," she said.

I nodded. I had become patient about waiting for ink.

I still woke early some mornings to check my email. Patience did not make the cost disappear. It only kept me from trading the next document for another promise from him.

That night, while I closed the shop, Mara called again.

"He has agreed to withdraw the suit and sign a correction."