There are parts of my work I cannot tell and parts I would never tell even if I could. Secrecy is not only policy after a certain point. It becomes reflex. Muscle memory. A second skin. What I can say is that I entered federal service through one door and intelligence through another, and by thirty I had become very good at moving information through chaos without leaving myself inside the records. I worked first in support, then analysis, then operations. My cover evolved as my responsibilities did. So did the lies I was permitted to tell.
North Atlantic Logistics Group was one of those lies. A cover designation. A shell of paperwork, tax records, addresses, a plausible employment history that could survive surface-level scrutiny and little more. It did not exist for town gossip or county investigators or offended fathers. It existed for adversaries who kill people for less.
The blank spaces in my life were not accidents. They were architecture.
The cost of that architecture was invisibility.