I stared at the phone after the call ended.
Olivia had sounded frightened.
Not theatrical.
Not manipulative.
Frightened.
Daniel held out his hand.
“Give me the phone.”
I did.
He examined the screen.
“No number.”
“Blocked?”
“Probably routed.”
Ethan stood motionless.
“What did she say?”
I looked at him.
“Don't trust you.”
His face tightened.
“She wants you to distrust me.”
“Why?”
“Because she knows you're close to the truth.”
Daniel interrupted.
“Both things can be true.”
Ethan looked at him.
“What?”
“Olivia could be manipulating her.”
“She could also be warning her.”
I nodded.
“That is what concerns me.”
Margaret rose.
“What do we do now?”
The federal agent answered.
“We secure the building.”
Several agents moved toward the computers.
Another checked the corridor.
The archive had become a crime scene.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the words Olivia had used.
My father had hidden something.
What?
I returned to the old desk.
The drawers were empty.
The compartments were empty.
Then I remembered the key.
The brass key my father had left me.
I held it up.
Daniel examined the tag.
“Basement Level Two.”
“But we're already here.”
“No.”
He looked at the corridor.
“This is Level One.”
My heart dropped.
The staircase we had taken had only brought us beneath the main archive.
There was another level below.
A deeper one.
The agent approached.
“Then we keep moving.”
Ethan shook his head.
“No.”
She looked at him.
“You've said that before.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
Ethan swallowed.
“My father never allowed anyone below this level.”
Daniel asked, “Including you?”
Ethan shook his head.
“Especially me.”
That changed everything.
I walked toward the corridor.
Ethan grabbed my arm again.
This time, the federal agent immediately stepped between us.
“Don't touch her.”
He released me.
“I was trying to protect her.”
“You had years to do that.”
I kept walking.
The staircase was hidden behind a steel panel.
The key opened it.
Cold air rushed upward.
We descended.
The lower level was smaller.
There were no servers.
No filing cabinets.
Only three rooms.
The first contained old photographs.
The second contained boxes.
The third was locked.
On the door was a brass plate.
B.
I stared at it.
“B for Blackwood?”
Daniel shook his head.
“Maybe.”
I inserted the key.
The lock turned.
Inside was a bedroom.
A child's bedroom.
There was a small wooden bed.
A desk.
A faded blue curtain.
A bookshelf.
On the wall were photographs.
My photographs.
At different ages.
Seven.
Nine.
Twelve.
Sixteen.
Twenty.
Twenty-three.
The latest had been taken only six months before my wedding.
I felt sick.
Someone had been tracking me for years.
Not occasionally.
Continuously.
Margaret entered behind me.
She stopped.
“Oh, Claire.”
I didn't answer.
On the desk was a child's drawing.
A house.
Three people standing outside.
One was labeled Claire.
One was labeled Father.
The third was labeled E.
Ethan.
I stared at it.
“I don't remember drawing this.”
Ethan came closer.
He looked at the picture.
Neither of us spoke.
Daniel opened the desk drawer.
Inside was a stack of letters.
All addressed to my father.
Most were unsigned.
The first said:
The child must remain unaware.
The second:
The Blackwood boy must not be told.
The third:
If the agreement survives, she will inherit the archive.
I sat down.
“Inherit?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Apparently.”
Ethan shook his head.
“No.”
He picked up the letter.
“This doesn't make sense.”
“What doesn't?”
“My father wanted me to control the archive.”
“Then why does this say I would inherit it?”
He had no answer.
I opened another letter.
This one was dated the year I turned eighteen.
Your daughter is now old enough to know the truth.
My father had written beneath it:
Not yet.
I closed my eyes.
He had been trying to protect me.
But from what?
A box beneath the desk contained a cassette recorder.
I pressed play.
My father's voice came through.
“If Claire ever finds this, she will believe I betrayed her.”
I looked toward Daniel.
The recording continued.
“I did not.”
A pause.
“I lied because the truth would have made her a target.”
My throat tightened.
“Her mother died believing the danger was gone.”
I froze.
My mother had died when I was ten.
We had always been told it was an accident.
The recording continued.
“It was not gone.”
Margaret covered her mouth.
Ethan looked at me.
I couldn't breathe.
My father's voice became quieter.
“Her death was not random.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Daniel stopped the tape.
I turned toward him.
“Play it.”
He hesitated.
“Claire—”
“Play it.”
He did.
My father's voice continued.
“Someone inside the Blackwood organization ordered the surveillance.”
“Someone believed Claire's mother knew too much.”
“I couldn't prove who.”
“So I made the archive believe Claire was protected.”
“Then I placed her outside the family.”
“Until the day she married Ethan.”
The tape stopped.
I stared at Ethan.
He looked horrified.
“You didn't know.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Did your father?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Margaret?”
She was crying.
“No.”
Daniel looked at the dates.
“Your father knew the marriage could expose the archive.”
I whispered,
“Or preserve it.”
Nobody spoke.
Then the phone rang again.
This time it was the federal agent's phone.
She answered.
Her expression changed.
She handed it to me.
“It's Olivia.”
I put the phone to my ear.
Olivia was breathing hard.
“Claire.”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because they're listening.”
“Who?”
A pause.
“The people who started this.”
I looked toward the agents.
“Tell me what you know.”
“You have to leave the Blackwood estate.”
“Why?”
“Because the raid isn't the danger.”
“What is?”
“The archive isn't a record.”
I waited.
“It is a control system.”
Daniel's eyes met mine.
Olivia continued.
“Your father didn't hide information there.”
“He hid the names of everyone who could activate it.”
My stomach tightened.
“Activate what?”
“The agreement.”
The call crackled.
Then Olivia whispered,
“Claire, your father's final file isn't in the archive.”
“Where is it?”
“With me.”
The line went dead.
Ethan looked at me.
“She's lying.”
I turned toward him.
“Maybe.”
Daniel asked, “What now?”
I looked at the room.
At the photographs.
At the letters.
At the child's drawing.
Then I noticed one final photograph pinned behind the desk.
It showed my father standing beside Olivia.
The date was two years before I met Ethan.
And written across the bottom were four words.
SHE KNOWS EVERYTHING.
I turned the photograph over.
A location was written on the back.
A small private airfield outside the city.
And beneath it:
Come alone.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Photograph From Before My Marriage Led to a Hidden Meeting Place, Where Olivia Finally Explained Who Had Been Pulling the Strings
The Smile I Wore at My Wedding Hid Something My Husband Never Expected to See in Front of Hundreds
Part 7 of 12
