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The lead article in the New York Tribune hit the streets on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend. Paige found out about it from a text message and immediately checked online. The story was at the top of the Tribune web page, and it came complete with several photos, including one of her and Wellington entering the courthouse. The article already had accumulated more than two hundred comments. And following the story, embedded online for the entire world to see, was the full PDF transcript of John Marcano’s deposition.

The article, written by Harry Coburn, described the contents of the deposition, which Coburn said he had obtained from a confidential source with inside information. A few paragraphs later, the article quoted Paige, who had made a few innocuous comments about the upcoming Supreme Court hearing to some local Virginia reporters. Coburn made it seem as if he had interviewed Paige himself.

The article described how duplicitous Marcano had looked when claiming a state secrets privilege for this mission when movies had been made and books had been written about similar missions in the past. It also highlighted the CIA’s practice of eyewashing its own agents and even cabinet members so that confidential information would not spill out.

After showing how powerful the CIA had become and noting that there was virtually no congressional oversight for the agency’s military activities, Coburn ended his article with a quote that dated back almost two thousand years: “Who guards the guards?”

Paige knew the article and the leaked deposition would stir public sentiment in their favor. But it seemed like the reporter was hinting at Paige as the confidential source. Thinking about how Judge Solberg might react made her stomach turn.

She worried about the article incessantly that morning but couldn’t focus on it all day. She had a date at the beach with Kristen and her two boys. The outing had been in the works for two weeks, and Paige couldn’t call it off now. Besides, there was nothing like the squeal of kids in the ocean to make you forget about your legal troubles.

The broad white sands of Virginia Beach were crawling with people and, for Labor Day weekend, blazing hot. Kristen and Paige set up two beach chairs in the wet sand close to the water and settled in to talk while Justin and Caleb played.

That plan didn’t last long. The boys begged them to go swimming, and soon Paige and Kristen were bodysurfing while the boys rode their boogie boards. Then the boys wanted to build a castle. Then they needed another layer of SPF 30, and Paige made sure to lather it on herself again as well. She had a faint runner’s tan, and the parts of her skin that were covered when she was running but exposed in her swimsuit were as white as they had been in March. It had been that kind of summer.

And then, as soon as the boys got new sunscreen on, they wanted to go into the surf again. They couldn’t go alone, of course.

All in all, it was an exhausting day, and it made both Paige and Kristen miss the men who had been in their lives. It wasn’t until nearly four o’clock, with the boys finally playing in the small waves and hunting for crabs, that Paige and Kristen had a chance to talk.

It had been a rough summer for Paige. Her law practice wasn’t generating the income she’d thought it would. Kristen’s case seemed to sprout a new set of problems every day. And Paige didn’t feel like she was mending from Patrick’s death the way she should. There were still days when the sadness was just overwhelming, Paige confided. Days like today when her heart felt like it had been ripped out of her chest all over again.

“I know what you mean,” Kristen said with a huge sigh. She had on sunglasses but Paige suspected she was tearing up. “I look at these two little guys and my heart just breaks for them without a father. And then I get mad at myself because I lose my patience with them and think I’m a horrible mother.”

“You’re the best mother I know,” Paige said.

“You need to get out more,” Kristen responded.

They talked about how summers would never be the same again. Kristen and Troy used to go to the beach even before the boys were born. “He loved the water,” Kristen said. “We would walk on the beach for miles. This is where we found our peace.”

Paige didn’t have the same kind of memories, but for her it was an opportunity missed. She had imagined herself raising a family with Patrick, the kids attacking the ocean the same way Kristen’s boys had done today. For her, it was the pain of dreams that would never be realized. For the first time, she told Kristen about Patrick’s proposal the night before he left for deployment and about her own regret at saying she needed more time.

“He knew you loved him,” Kristen said. “He knew you were going to say yes eventually.”

By five o’clock, Paige was pretty sure her skin was scorched despite her best efforts to stay covered in sunscreen. They left the beach tired, sunburned, and surprisingly refreshed. The time with Kristen helped Paige remember why she had left her old job and taken this case in the first place. Kristen was a good woman, and she had lost something that could never be replaced.

When they parted ways, Paige hugged the sandy bodies of Kristen’s little boys. She had wanted to buy them some ice cream, but Kristen said it would ruin their supper. So she settled for a quick squeeze and watched the boys follow their mother to the parking garage.

Paige thought about the words of Wyatt Jackson—his firm belief that they could never really win this case. She didn’t share that same sense of fatalism. It might take a miracle, but unlike Wyatt, she actually believed in miracles. She turned left on Atlantic, walking toward her car, which was parked two blocks away in an uncovered lot. She prayed as she walked—a plea for justice for Kristen and the boys and strength for herself. How could God turn down a humble request like that?

The day after Labor Day, a $10,000 check from Kristen arrived in the mail. It was accompanied by a handwritten note.

I haven’t seen a bill yet. Knowing you, you probably aren’t going to send one. But I never expected you to do this for free. Wyatt and Wellington certainly aren’t.

I’ve enclosed a $10,000 retainer. Please let me know if you need more.

I could never do this without you, Paige. Thanks for being a great lawyer and an even better friend.

Paige hated cashing the check, but ramen noodles were getting old. This would keep her new firm afloat for the next several weeks. By then maybe she would have a few more paying clients.

That same day, she received an electronic notification from federal court with an attached order from Judge Solberg. The judge had apparently read the article in the New York Tribune, and she was not happy about it.

She ordered all parties and all lawyers who had worked on the case to appear in her courtroom at nine o’clock Friday morning to answer a rule to show cause. The purpose of the rule, according to Judge Solberg, was to find out who had violated her protective order by leaking the deposition of Director Marcano.

Paige knew that everyone, including Judge Solberg, probably thought it was either her or Wyatt Jackson. But she had followed the protective order to the hilt, not even giving Wyatt a copy of the deposition. She would be prepared to defend herself, though she expected the judge to be skeptical.

It was the last thing she needed in a case that was growing more difficult to win every day.