“The envelope contains an unclassified military-service certification approved for release. The accompanying handling notice explains that the underlying duty-history material includes classified information. None of that classified material is enclosed.”
Judge Mercer studied the notice again.
“And you have authorization for the information you propose to submit?”
“Yes, Your Honor. The authentication and release authorization are included.”
He turned toward the courtroom clerk.
“We will take an immediate recess. The jury is excused. Counsel will remain available for a conference in chambers.”
He looked at both attorneys.
“Nothing in that envelope is to be read aloud until I have determined what may properly be placed on the public record.”
Then he struck his gavel.
The sound seemed to travel through my chest.
The jurors filed out.
People in the gallery began whispering.
My mother turned toward Arvett.
“What is this?” she demanded.
He spoke quietly to her, but his face had changed.
The confidence was gone.
He looked irritated now.
Not at me.
At the envelope.
I had seen that expression before.
It was the look of someone discovering that the assumptions beneath an entire argument were beginning to collapse.
Captain Vale returned to the defense table.
“You’re doing fine,” he told me.
I gave him a small nod.
My hands were cold.
He noticed.
“Breathe.”
I almost smiled.
After eighteen years in uniform, I was being reminded to breathe in a county courthouse.
