Mara looked at my father.
“You’re Richard Hayes.”
Dad nodded.
“I need to ask you something,” Mara said. “Did you ever use the name Harbor Light?”
Dad’s face changed.
It was subtle, but I saw it.
A flicker.
A door opening somewhere behind his eyes.
“What did you say?”
Mara turned one laptop toward us.
On the screen was a file directory from the flash drive.
One folder was labeled HARBOR_LIGHT.
Inside were scans of memos, maps, test results, and emails. But at the bottom was a video file.
Mara clicked it.
The footage was grainy, taken from a security camera inside what looked like a storage room. Metal shelves lined the walls. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Ethan stood in the frame, younger than I remembered and exactly as I remembered. His hair was messy. His jaw tense. His eyes alive with urgency.
Beside him stood my father.
My mother whispered his name.
In the video, Ethan held up a stack of papers.
“They know,” Ethan said. “They’ve known for years. The barrels are leaking into the riverbed.”
Dad’s recorded voice answered, low and rough.
“I gave the report to Vale.”
“And?”
“He told me to forget I ever saw it.”
Ethan stepped closer.
“Then we go public.”
Dad shook his head.
“You don’t understand this town. Vale owns people. Judges. Officers. Doctors. Half the council.”
“Then we make copies.”
“I already did.”
Everyone in Mara’s apartment went still.
On screen, Ethan stared at him.
Dad reached into his jacket and handed Ethan something.
A flash drive.
Not the one I had.
A second one.
My father in the room let out a sound like air leaving his body.
On the video, he said, “Harbor Light. That’s the password. If anything happens to me, release it.”
Ethan looked grim.
“What if something happens to me first?”
Dad put a hand on his shoulder.
“Then God help us.”
The video ended.
No one spoke.
Mara leaned back.
“There are references to a second archive all over Ethan’s files. He didn’t have it. He only had pieces. But Richard…” She looked at my father. “You had the original.”
Dad pressed both hands against his head.
“I don’t remember.”
“Try,” I said.
He closed his eyes.
Rain tapped against the windows. Somewhere in the building, a pipe groaned. Leo sat very still beside my mother.
Dad whispered, “A locker.”
My heart jumped.
“What locker?”
“I don’t know. Metal. Blue door.” His breathing quickened. “There was a number. I can almost see it.”
Mara grabbed a notebook.
“Was it at the plant?”
“No.” Dad shook his head. “Somewhere public. Somewhere they wouldn’t look.”
His eyes opened.
“The bus station.”
Mara stood.
“The old Greyhound station?”
“It closed eight years ago,” Mom said.
“No,” Dad said. “Before it closed, they moved unclaimed storage to the county depot.”
Mara was already typing.
“County property warehouse. Opens at eight.”
“We can’t wait until morning,” I said.
Mara looked at me.
“Anna, breaking in is not smart.”
“Neither is sitting here while someone who knows about Ethan calls my parents’ house.”
She had no answer.
Dad stood.
“I know a man who worked there.”
“Can you trust him?” Mara asked.
Dad’s mouth tightened.
“Ten years ago, I would have said yes about a lot of people.”
That was not comforting, but it was all we had.
We left Leo and my mother in Mara’s apartment with instructions not to open the door. Leo hugged me before I went.
“Mom,” he whispered, “was my dad brave?”
I kissed his forehead.
“Yes.”
“Are you?”
The question nearly broke me.
“I’m trying to be.”
Outside, the rain had softened to mist. Mara drove this time, while Dad sat beside her and I sat in the back, gripping my phone. Every passing car felt suspicious. Every shadow seemed to turn its head.
The county depot sat behind a chain-link fence near the old rail line. A single yellow light burned above the entrance.
Dad called his former coworker, a man named Calvin Price. To my surprise, Calvin answered on the second ring.
