Chapter 15
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Not respected. Not suspected. That’s what I was thinking all those months ago, when I walked into the office in Hennington, Minnesota where Emily Alvin was waiting and found out what the FBI really thought about me.
The look on her face was noticeably colder then, a look of disgust contained behind a mask of professionalism. Emily Alvin was no one to trifle with. Back in the Cold War, she’d uncovered a mole in the FBI singlehandedly. Now her job was to hang me, and the only question was whether she would also draw and quarter me.
“Gavin,” she had said back then. “Please sit down.”
“I take it this is going to be a long conversation then.”
“You were expecting something shorter?”
“How long does it take to fire a man?”
“You deserve to be fired,” she said. “You deser
