Page 49 of Code Name: Atticus

“I took the liberty of ordering the tasting menu,” Morrison said as we settled in. “The chef here is extraordinary. Former French Laundry, if that means anything to you.”

“Everything means something,” Liu said quietly, his first words of the evening. He had this way of blinking—slow, deliberate, like a predator considering whether you were worth eating.

The first course arrived—foam that tasted like the ocean had been distilled into a single spoonful.

“Tell me, how did the four of you meet?” asked Morrison.

“Industry conference in Dubai,” Kodiak responded smoothly. “Three years ago. Bronwyn and Sarah were on a panel about defense technology innovation.”

“I was moderating,” Brenna added. “Jordan asked the most obnoxious question about procurement inefficiencies.”

“It was a good question,” Kodiak protested.

“It was a speech disguised as a question,” Emma said, touching his arm affectionately. “But he made good points.”

Morrison smiled. “And now, you’re all friends. How wonderful when business relationships become personal ones. Don’t you think, Mark?”

Liu nodded slowly with that beast-of-prey blink again. “Trust is everything in business. It’s easier to trust people you know socially.”

“Speaking of trust,” Castellano interjected, “I’m curious about your risk tolerance. The defense sector is notoriously conservative.”

“Depends on the risk,” I said. “And the reward.”

“All legitimate risks, of course,” Morrison added with a smile that suggested otherwise. “But sometimes, opportunities arise that require…creative thinking.”

“Creative how?” Brenna asked.

Morrison swirled his wine—a Burgundy that probably cost more than most people’s mortgage payments. “Well, for example, do you believe American innovation is being strangled by regulation?”

“Yes,” Emma said immediately. “We spend more time on compliance than development.”

“Exactly.” Morrison leaned forward. “Other countries don’t have these constraints. They’re advancing while we’re filling out forms.”

“But those regulations exist for a reason,” I pointed out, playing the cautious one.

“Do they?” Liu spoke up again. “Or do they exist to maintain control? To ensure that only certain people have access to certain technologies?”

“You sound like someone with experience,” Kodiak observed.

Liu’s smile was thin. “I’ve seen brilliant ideas die because the creator couldn’t navigate the bureaucracy. Technologies that could change the world, buried in classification reviews and export controls.”

“Buried is a strong word,” I said. “More like temporarily delayed for national security.”

“Temporarily?” Liu’s laugh sounded like ice cracking. “Some of these technologies have been ‘temporarily’ classified for decades. By the time they’re released, they’re obsolete.”

The main course arrived—duck that melted on my tongue, accompanied by perfectly roasted vegetables.

“Let me propose a hypothetical,” Morrison said. “Suppose someone had access to technology that was being underutilized. Locked away by excessive classification. And suppose there were buyers—legitimate businesses—who could develop that technology for peaceful purposes.”

“That would be illegal,” Brenna said flatly.

“Would it be wrong?” Morrison countered. “If the technology could benefit humanity but is instead gathering dust in a classified vault?”

“That’s a dangerous philosophical position,” I said.

“All the best positions are,” Castellano chimed in. “The safe path rarely leads to greatness.”

“Or wealth,” Liu added.