74

NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

Tuesday was one of the longest days of Paige’s life. She sat on a hard wooden bench in the marble hallway of the federal court building, just outside courtroom 1, clutching her subpoena to appear before the grand jury. Landon, Wyatt, and Wellington were there as well, and Wyatt did his share of pacing, complaining to Mitchell Taylor every time Mitchell came out the courtroom doors. It was a sign of disrespect to keep them waiting, Wyatt said. Mitchell should have planned things better. When was Mitchell going to call Wyatt and his team? They had lots of things to do, including preparing for a Supreme Court argument.

Mitchell said little and gave nothing away. Paige watched as other witnesses came and went, including some she did not know. Landon approached the witnesses after they testified to see if they would brief him on what they had said. None of them seemed willing to cooperate.

Paige was the first of the three plaintiff’s lawyers called to testify. It was nearly noon when the U.S. marshal came into the hallway and called her name. She wiped her sweaty hands on the sides of her dress, nodded at Wyatt and Landon, and marched toward the door of the courtroom. She entered with her head held high and walked down the middle aisle, staring straight ahead. The marshal administered the oath, and Paige swore to tell the truth.

Twenty-four grand jurors stared at her, gauging her every move. Twelve were seated in the jury box and twelve in the first few rows of the courtroom. There was no judge, and there were no lawyers at the table for defense counsel. The courtroom was empty except for the jurors, the marshals, a court reporter, Mitchell Taylor, and FBI Agents Vaughn and Diaz.

Paige settled into the witness chair.

“Good morning, Ms. Chambers,” Mitchell Taylor said. He looked like a Marine—ramrod straight, hair clipped short, his suit tight and pressed.

“Good morning.” Paige’s voice was high and nervous.

“Please state your name for the record, spelling your last name.”

“Paige Chambers, C-H-A-M-B-E-R-S.”

Many of the jurors were taking notes, and the body language was not good. Some had their arms crossed. Others scowled.

“I’d like to ask you a few questions about whether or not you received and used classified information.”

“Okay.”

Mitchell began by establishing some background facts. He questioned Paige about her familiarity with the prohibition against receiving and disseminating classified information. Paige and Landon had anticipated this line of questioning, and she answered his questions, carefully focusing on each one, taking her time before responding. She knew that the pauses made her appear guilty, but Landon had convinced her that there was no way to persuade the grand jury anyway, and the only thing that mattered was the resulting transcript of her testimony. She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

Mitchell next asked a series of questions to help the jurors understand Paige’s role in the Anderson case and the alleged leaking of the Marcano deposition. Paige answered each of those questions as well—carefully, methodically, like someone trying to hide something.

Then Mitchell shifted to the FBI interview with Paige. He handed her a copy of the transcript from that interview.

“Ms. Chambers, the jurors have already heard the recorded interview between you and FBI Agents Vaughn and Diaz. This is a written transcript if you need it to refresh your memory.”

“Thank you.”

“At the time Agents Vaughn and Diaz interviewed you on Saturday, September 8, you were aware that this office was conducting an investigation into a violation of Judge Solberg’s confidentiality order; is that right?”

Paige wanted to answer the question. She wanted to explain that she had known about the investigation into the deposition leak but hadn’t known they would be questioning her about classified information. But she was under strict orders from Landon not to answer such questions. “Don’t be a hero,” he’d said. “You’ll only get yourself in more trouble.”

Paige paused, swallowed hard, and repeated the line that Landon had made her memorize: “I’m asserting my rights under the Fifth Amendment to the United States Constitution not to answer the question.”

Landon had told her to keep it short and simple and to act confident as she asserted the Fifth. Still, she felt sleazy doing it.

Mitchell Taylor feigned surprise. “You’re refusing to answer?”

“I’m asserting my privilege under the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution.”

“So you’re claiming that something about the question might incriminate you?”

“I’m asserting my right under the Fifth Amendment,” Paige said, with more authority this time. But as soon as the words were out, she knew that her tone had been a mistake.

Mitchell frowned for his little audience of jurors. “Okay then, let me ask you this: Did you deny to Agents Vaughn and Diaz that you had received any classified information from any source?”

“I decline to answer the question on the basis of my rights under the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution.”

“But the jury has already heard you say it on the recording,” Mitchell insisted. “It’s right there in black and white in front of you. Are you denying that you said it?”

Everybody in the courtroom seemed to be frowning at her. Mitchell Taylor. The FBI agents. The jurors. “I’m asserting my right under the Fifth Amendment of the United States Constitution not to answer the question.”

Mitchell had been pacing around the courtroom, holding a legal pad full of notes. He now walked over to his counsel table and set the notepad down. He returned to the well of the courtroom empty-handed and crossed his arms, a look of disdain on his face.

“Isn’t it true that you knew an official federal investigation was under way when you talked to the FBI, and you knew that the investigation went beyond the question of who had leaked Director Marcano’s deposition?”

“I’m asserting my rights under the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution not to answer the question.”

“And isn’t it true that you received classified information prior to that interview and then obstructed justice by lying to the FBI about it?”

“I decline to answer the question.”

“You used classified information to advance your case, didn’t you?”

“I’m asserting my rights under the Fifth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution.”

“And you’re on a contingency fee, meaning that if your client wins a stash of money, you get one-third?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Ah—a question that you can answer?”

Paige shook her head, mad at herself for taking the bait. “I’m asserting the Fifth.”

Mitchell smirked. “Here’s what it has to do with anything,” he said. “You are illegally using classified information to advance a case in which you will personally profit. Isn’t that true?”

“I’m asserting my rights under the Fifth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution.”

And so it went for what seemed like an eternity. Mitchell Taylor making accusations, Paige refusing to answer the questions, the jurors scolding her with their body language. Even before he was done, Paige knew for certain that she would be indicted for obstruction of justice and the unauthorized dissemination of classified information.

“One more set of questions,” Mitchell said. “From whom did you obtain the classified information?”

“I refuse to answer and I assert my rights under the Fifth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution.”

“Was it Daniel Reese?”

It felt to Paige like she had been hit with cannon fire. Her jaw dropped a little at the mention of Reese’s name, and she scrambled to regain her composure as the blood rushed to her face.

“I refuse to answer and assert my rights under the Fifth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution.”

Did they know that she had met with Reese on the Cape Henry Trail? That he had given her background information about the case? What else did they know?

“You’re sure you don’t want to answer that question?” Mitchell asked.

“I’m sure.”

Mitchell made a great display of walking back to his counsel table, leafing through his notes, and shaking his head. “In light of the witness’s invocation of the Fifth Amendment, that’s all the questions I have for now,” Mitchell said.

Paige stood but Mitchell held out his hand. “Wait; one more thing. Did you bring the computer and cell phone that we subpoenaed?”

Paige stared at him. He knew she didn’t have it. “Obviously not.”

“Why not?”

“I’m taking the Fifth Amendment on that, too, Mr. Taylor.”

“I thought maybe you would.”

It seemed to Paige that Wyatt’s and Wellington’s time with the grand jury was shorter than hers. They all huddled up and compared notes afterward. Landon tried to reassure Paige, but his words rang hollow. She was steeling herself to be indicted later that day or at the very least prior to her Supreme Court argument. “Landon, you’d better be ready to go on Monday,” she said.

They were huddled at one end of the hallway when Paige heard footsteps coming around the corner. She looked past Landon’s shoulder and saw him—dressed in his military whites, his shoes shining, his hat tucked under his arm. Daniel Reese was surrounded by a small army of military lawyers, each carrying a briefcase. They formed their own huddle, and Reese avoided looking in Paige’s direction.

Landon turned, took in the scene, and asked Paige if it was Daniel Reese. When Paige nodded, Landon walked over to the group of men. He talked to them quietly, and Paige couldn’t hear a word that was said. When he came back, he told Paige that they weren’t willing to tell Landon anything about why Reese had been subpoenaed or what he might say.

A few minutes later, a marshal came into the hallway and called Daniel Reese’s name. He walked alone into the grand jury room.

When he reemerged nearly an hour and a half later, Landon approached his team again. This time, Reese had a message for Paige.

“Tell her I was just responding to the government’s subpoena to testify,” Reese had told Landon. “I was just doing my patriotic duty.”