Chapter 9 - THE FALLOUT
News of the audit scandal at Puget Sound naval shipyard broke across the defense industry like a tidal wave over the next two weeks.
Defense Industry Daily ran a front-page article with the headline: "HALSTON MARINE SUSPENDED FROM NAVY BID FOLLOWING SWEEPING AUDIT BY NEW CHIEF STRUCTURAL INSPECTOR."
The article didn't just detail the technical failure of the hull welds; it explicitly mentioned the total restructuring of Halston Marine’s executive board following the immediate termination of Vice President Derek Halston for gross ethical misconduct and oversight negligence.
Derek’s downfall was absolute.
Without his six-figure corporate salary, his company car, or his executive stock options, his lavish lifestyle collapsed like a house of cards. His name became radioactive in the defense sector. Nobody would hire a man who was publicly disgraced by Admiral Thomas Reddick and blacklisted by the Department of Defense’s lead auditor.
Two weeks after the gala, I returned to the apartment Derek and I had shared to collect the remainder of my personal belongings.
The apartment was messy. Empty takeout containers littered the granite kitchen counter, and unopened bill notices were piled near the door.
Derek was sitting on the couch in sweatpants, his face unshaven, staring blankly at a TV screen that was turned off. He looked ten years older.
When I walked in with two movers to collect my bookshelves and drawing desk, Derek didn't yell. He didn't scream. He looked at me with hollow, defeated eyes.
"You took everything," he said quietly, his voice dry and raspy.
I stopped near the doorway, holding a box of my technical manuals.
"I didn't take anything that belonged to you, Derek," I said calmly. "You threw your life away because you cared more about looking big to strangers than being honest with yourself."
Derek looked down at his trembling hands. "I can't get a job, Mara. Even commercial shipping firms won't take my calls. My landlord told me I have thirty days to clear out of this place."
I looked at the man I had almost married. I felt no joy in his misery. I felt no petty satisfaction. I only felt a deep, quiet relief that I had walked away before his hollowness had dragged me down with him.
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"You have a degree in business, Derek," I said, turning toward the door. "You can still rebuild your life. But you'll have to do it from the bottom up—and this time, you won't be able to use anyone else as a stepping stool."
As I walked out of the apartment for the last time, I heard him let out a small, quiet sob behind me. I didn't look back.
