Part 3 — The Secret Camille Wasn’t Supposed to Know
Camille closed the ballroom doors behind her.
“What did you show her?” she asked Grant.
He didn’t answer.
I did.
“You already knew about Nightfall.”
Camille’s face changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do.”
I held up the photograph.
“You called Grant three days ago.”
She looked at him.
He looked away.
Then she looked back at me.
“Mara, give me the file.”
“No.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
For twenty years, Camille had always been the louder one.
The successful one.
The daughter my parents introduced first.
The person everyone assumed had the answers.
But now her voice was shaking.
“You have no idea what that file contains.”
“Then tell me.”
She said nothing.
“Tell me, Camille.”
Still nothing.
I stepped closer.
“You told Grant to find out where I worked.”
“That was for your protection.”
I almost laughed.
“My protection?”
“Yes.”
“From what?”
She looked toward the ballroom.
Then lowered her voice.
“From the people who have been looking for you.”
Everything inside me went still.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
She took a breath.
“Three weeks ago, someone accessed a restricted database using credentials connected to your name.”
My eyes narrowed.
“What database?”
“That’s classified.”
I smiled bitterly.
“You’re telling me that?”
Camille looked at me.
“I didn’t know you were still active.”
There it was.
The sentence I had been waiting twenty years to hear.
“You thought I left?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad told me you did.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
Camille looked genuinely confused.
“He told me you resigned years ago.”
I stared at her.
“He told you that?”
“Yes.”
“And Mom?”
“She believed it too.”
I suddenly understood.
The jokes.
The questions.
The way my family had always described my career as something small.
They hadn’t been dismissing me.
They had been given a story.
A false one.
Grant stepped backward.
“Why would your father lie about something like that?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I already knew the answer was going to hurt.
My father had never asked what I did.
Never asked where I deployed.
Never asked why I sometimes disappeared for months.
Maybe he hadn’t been uninterested.
Maybe he had been afraid.
My phone vibrated.
Everyone froze.
I looked down.
One new message.
LEAVE THE LODGE. NOW.
A second message appeared before I could react.
DO NOT TRUST CAMILLE.
I looked at my sister.
She had seen the message over my shoulder.
Her face went pale.
“Mara…”
Then every light in the hallway went out.
The ballroom fell silent.
Someone screamed.
Emergency lights flickered on.
The gray-suited man from the fireplace was gone.
So was Grant.
I turned around.
“Grant?”
No answer.
Camille grabbed my arm.
“We need to move.”
“Where?”
“Kitchen exit.”
“How do you know?”
She hesitated.
“Because there are people coming through the front entrance.”
Footsteps echoed from the lobby.
Fast.
Heavy.
Several people.
Camille pulled me toward the service corridor.
For the first time in twenty years, my sister wasn’t walking ahead of me.
She was following me.
We reached the kitchen.
I stopped.
On the stainless-steel counter sat my black clutch.
I hadn’t left it there.
Camille stared at it.
“Don’t touch it.”
I slowly opened the bag.
Inside was a small metal drive.
I had never seen it before.
There was a handwritten label.
Three words.
FOR MARA ONLY.
Camille whispered:
“That’s impossible.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
She swallowed.
“Because that drive disappeared nineteen years ago.”
I picked it up.
“What is it?”
Camille stared at the drive as if it were a weapon.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
“It contains the names of everyone who was involved in Operation Nightfall.”
I looked at the door.
The footsteps were getting closer.
Then Camille added:
“And your name isn’t on the list.”
I turned toward her.
“Then whose name is?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she looked at me and whispered:
“Our father’s.”