The far wall was a bookshelf neatly divided in two, which, in a way, summed up her boss. George descended from one of the oldest Japanese families in the United States. His ancestors had fled Japan following the Meiji Restoration and arrived in San Francisco in 1871. They had carved out a rich and successful life for themselves, weathered internment, and rebuilt their fortunes in the 1950s. The Abes were proud both of their heritage and their adopted country. It was a family tradition to recognize the two halves in the names of their children.

George Leyasu Abe.

One half of the bookcase was devoted to books on Japanese history. George was particularly fascinated by the culture of the samurai, and dozens of books on the subject took up an entire shelf. His middle name, Leyasu, was taken from the founder of the Tokugawa shogunate in 1600, which was dissolved by the Meiji Restoration of 1868. The other half of the shelf was given over to books on American colonial history. George Washington, his namesake, was especially well represented, as were Madison and Franklin. But, and Jenn knew this for a fact, there wasn’t a single book on Thomas Jefferson. George considered Jefferson disloyal and a traitor. It was a subject he could lecture upon for hours. She didn’t always understand her boss, or agree with his condemnation of Jefferson, but loyalty was one subject about which they were in complete agreement. That was why she couldn’t understand his decision to bring Gibson Vaughn into the next phase of this mission.

George stopped what he was doing and pointed to a chair. Jenn sat, realizing immediately that she didn’t know how to broach the subject. George, as he so often did, read her mind.

“So. Gibson Vaughn.”

She smiled ruefully at her transparence. Poker had never been her game.

“I just don’t get it,” she said. “Mike is the wrong guy, clearly, but it’s not like Gibson Vaughn invented the computer. What really qualifies him for this? So he hacked a senator when he was a kid. Is that really the résumé of someone we want to be working with? I mean, this whole keeping-us-in-suspense thing. He’s a prima donna, and he clearly prefers to do things his own way.”

George smiled. “So you don’t like him.”

“Not really, which is immaterial. I don’t trust him, which isn’t. He’s a risk. And I’m afraid . . .” She trailed off.

George leaned back. “Say what you came to say.”

“I’m afraid this history between you . . . that it’s blinding you. You think he’s going to be grateful for this chance you’re giving him. I know you believe you’re cleaning the slate, and I respect that, but he’s not the type. He’s never going to forgive anyone anything, because it’s all someone else’s fault.”

“He’s performed well up until now.”