Chapter 8 - Adrian And The Information He Held
Adrian and I did not become romantically involved.
People seemed disappointed when they learned that.
Apparently every thriller needs a man in a tuxedo who eventually kisses the blind woman he underestimated.
We became something more useful.
Difficult colleagues.
The insurer hired me six months later to participate in a revised artifact-risk protocol.
I almost refused because Adrian was leading the review.
Then I accepted precisely because he was.
At our first meeting, he sent me a forty-page risk packet.
Accessible format.
Proper heading structure.
Detailed description of all diagrams.
No special praise for himself.
That impressed me more than flowers would have.
Then we fought for two hours.
I wanted consultants who physically interact with an object included in threat briefings.
Adrian argued some intelligence had to remain compartmentalized.
True.
I argued:
“Compartmentalized does not mean the person touching the threatened object gets nothing.”
Also true.
We eventually designed a tiered disclosure protocol.
Enough information for informed safety decisions.
Not every investigative detail.
The principle sounded obvious after we wrote it.
That was usually how reform worked.
Obvious after harm.
Adrian also told me why he had become so comfortable withholding information.
His younger brother, Nathan, had worked security with him years earlier.
During an art-theft operation in Boston, a premature warning leaked.
The suspects fled.
A pursuing officer was injured.
Nathan blamed himself for sharing too much.
Adrian learned:
Information spreads risk.
So he narrowed circles.
Need-to-know.
Control dissemination.
Professional lesson.
Then he brought it into every situation.
At the gala, he saw me primarily as:
Consultant outside security cell.
Not:
Human being whose hand may be placed onto threatened object.
He said:
“I thought the safer choice was limiting information.”
“For the investigation.”
“Yes.”
“Not for me.”
“No.”
That distinction became his work.
Mine too.
Because I had another bad habit.
If people offered help badly, I rejected help entirely.
That made me feel autonomous.
It also made collaboration harder.
At a site inspection once, Adrian asked:
“Do you want my arm?”
I snapped:
“No.”
Then immediately walked into a temporary barrier that had been placed after my orientation.
He did not say anything.
I was furious with him for the silence.
Finally:
“You’re allowed to laugh.”
“I’m not suicidal.”
Fair.
I asked:
“Can you describe the new layout?”
He did.
That was the healthier version.
Not:
Blind woman proves independence by never needing assistance.
Not:
Sighted man assumes assistance and grabs her elbow.
Information.
Choice.
May you like
Adjustment.
We became good at that eventually.
