PART 5
“That’s what your family was told.”
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
The black SUV moved through the darkness while Denver disappeared behind us in scattered lights.
I stared at General Cross.
“My grandfather died.”
Cross said nothing.
“I went to the funeral.”
“I know.”
“I watched them lower the casket.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t sit there and tell me he’s alive.”
Cross looked toward the driver.
“Privacy partition.”
The dark glass rose between us and the front seats.
Then he turned back to me.
“Open the file.”
My hands were still resting on the sealed folder.
SITE 7 — MERCER SUCCESSION PROTOCOL.
Grandpa’s name.
Grandma’s name.
Mine.
I broke the seal.
The first page contained a photograph.
Samuel Mercer.
My paternal grandfather.
Older than I remembered him.
Gray hair.
Deep lines around his mouth.
But unmistakably him.
The photograph was dated eleven months ago.
I stared at it.
“No.”
Cross didn’t interrupt.
I brought the picture closer.
Grandpa stood beside a concrete wall holding that day’s newspaper.
Someone had clearly taken the photograph as proof of life.
My fingers started shaking.
“This could be fabricated.”
“Yes.”
“You’re saying it isn’t?”
“I’m saying we authenticated it.”
“How?”
“Methods I can’t discuss in this vehicle.”
I looked at the date again.
Eleven months.
Grandma had been dead for three years.
Grandpa had supposedly been dead for seventeen.
“What happened at his funeral?”
“A body was buried.”
“Whose?”
Cross’s silence told me everything.
“You don’t know.”
“We believe we do.”
“Who?”
“A man named Peter Raines.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who was he?”
“A federal contractor assigned to Site 7.”
I stared at Cross.
“You buried someone else under my grandfather’s name?”
“The people responsible did.”
“You say that like you weren’t involved.”
“I wasn’t.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Where were you?”
Cross looked out the window.
“Site 7.”
My anger sharpened.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“When Grandpa supposedly died?”
“Yes.”
I nearly threw the file across the SUV.
“You knew him.”
“I knew of him.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Cross finally looked at me.
“Yes.”
The answer landed harder than I expected.
“My whole life.”
“No.”
“My military career?”
“No.”
“Nightglass?”
“Yes.”
I leaned back.
There it was.
The first clean admission.
“You knew who I was before Nightglass.”
“Yes.”
“How long before?”
“Years.”
“How many?”
Cross didn’t answer immediately.
“General.”
“Since your academy application.”
I laughed.
It came out bitter.
“You monitored me since I was eighteen?”
“Monitored isn’t the right word.”
“What word would you prefer?”
“Protected.”
I stared at him.
“From what?”
He pointed toward the file.
“Keep reading.”
I wanted to demand more.
Instead, I turned the page.
A timeline covered the next sheet.
1987 — SITE 7 INCIDENT.
1989 — BENNETT CLEARANCE REVOKED.
1991 — MERCER SUBJECT PLACED UNDER RESTRICTED PROTECTION.
1993 — ELLA MERCER BORN.
2009 — SUCCESSION WATCH INITIATED.
2012 — ACADEMY ENTRY.
2023 — NIGHTGLASS ACTIVATED.
The dates made my stomach twist.
“Succession watch?”
Cross nodded.
“What does that mean?”
“It means your name was placed into an alert system.”
“When I was sixteen?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“Your grandmother.”
That answer stopped me.
“Grandma had access to a government alert system?”
“Not directly.”
“Then how?”
“She made an agreement.”
“With who?”
“With people who were trying to keep your grandfather alive.”
I looked down at the file.
“What exactly did Grandpa witness?”
Cross exhaled slowly.
“In 1987, Site 7 was a classified underground storage and testing facility.”
“For weapons?”
“Not exactly.”
“That answer is getting old.”
“Because the truth is complicated.”
“Try me.”
Cross folded his hands.
“Site 7 stored evidence.”
“What kind?”
“Material seized from unauthorized military procurement programs.”
I frowned.
“Corruption?”
“Some of it.”
“What else?”
“Prototype systems.”
I looked at him.
“What systems?”
“Surveillance technology. Identity architecture. Early biometric databases. Personnel tracking.”
My mind immediately went to the identifier on Dad’s transfer paperwork.
Cross saw it happen.
“Yes.”
“That number came from Site 7?”
“A descendant of the same system.”
I stared at him.
“So something built forty years ago is still being used.”
“Parts of it.”
“And Grandpa found evidence of that?”
“He found something worse.”
The SUV turned onto a highway ramp.
Our second escort vehicle remained close behind.
“What?”
Cross leaned forward.
“Your grandfather discovered that the technology wasn’t only being tested on military personnel.”
My skin prickled.
“Who else?”
“Families.”
I didn’t understand.
“Families of personnel?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To predict behavior.”
I stared at him.
“Say that again.”
Cross’s voice stayed level.
“Site 7 contained an experimental program designed to map how loyalty, risk tolerance, obedience, and resistance moved through families.”
“That sounds insane.”
“It was.”
“Was?”
Cross didn’t answer.
My throat tightened.
“You’re telling me they tracked children.”
“Yes.”
“For military recruitment?”
“Initially.”
“And later?”
He looked toward the file.
“Keep reading.”
I turned another page.
Most of it had been redacted.
Then I saw a family tree.
Grandpa.
Grandma.
Dad.
Me.
Tiffany.
Lines connected names to codes.
Beside my name was a red designation.
PRIMARY SUCCESSOR.
Beside Tiffany’s:
NON-QUALIFYING.
I felt sick.
“What does qualifying mean?”
Cross looked uncomfortable for the first time.
“It means you matched specific behavioral criteria.”
“What criteria?”
“Stress response. Cognitive performance. Resistance to coercion. Pattern recognition.”
I laughed once.
“So my whole career was some test?”
“No.”
“Then why is my sister labeled non-qualifying?”
“Ella.”
“Answer me.”
“It means you exhibited traits the original system flagged.”
“Which system?”
“Nightglass.”
The word filled the SUV.
I stared at Cross.
“You said Nightglass was an operation.”
“It was.”
“Was?”
“It was also the name of the underlying protocol.”
A pulse beat hard behind my eyes.
“What did I do during Nightglass?”
“You know what you did.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I know what I was told I did.”
Cross became still.
I continued.
“I know I was flown into an unnamed facility after a breach.”
“Yes.”
“I know I spent six days reviewing compromised personnel files.”
“Yes.”
“I know we found twenty-seven false identities embedded in a defense contractor database.”
“Yes.”
“And I know three people died before we shut it down.”
Cross looked away.
“That is all true.”
“But not all of it.”
“No.”
I felt anger rise slowly now.
More dangerous than shouting.
“What did you leave out?”
Cross reached for the file and turned several pages.
Then he stopped.
A photograph showed a dark server room.
I recognized it instantly.
Nightglass.
I had stood there.
I had spent forty-eight hours without sleep inside that room.
But something was different.
A red circle had been drawn around one server rack.
“What’s that?”
“The archive you accessed.”
“I accessed twelve.”
“Not this one.”
I stared at the picture.
“Yes, I did.”
“No.”
“I remember it.”
Cross shook his head.
“You remember being told you did.”
My mouth went dry.
“What are you saying?”
“You lost forty-three minutes that night.”
I almost laughed.
“No.”
“You collapsed.”
“I remember being exhausted.”
“You were unconscious.”
“No.”
“You were found on the floor.”
“Cross.”
“You woke up forty-three minutes later and continued the operation.”
I searched my memory.
Fluorescent lights.
Cold coffee.
A headache.
Someone asking if I could stand.
Then nothing.
Blank.
My chest tightened.
“What happened during those forty-three minutes?”
“We don’t know.”
“You have cameras.”
“They failed.”
“Logs?”
“Corrupted.”
“Witnesses?”
“One.”
I knew the answer before he said it.
“My grandfather.”
Cross nodded.
A cold wave moved through me.
“He was there.”
“Yes.”
“During Nightglass?”
“Yes.”
“I never saw him.”
“He saw you.”
My throat tightened.
“Where?”
“Behind a one-way observation wall.”
I stared at him.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It will.”
“Why would a man who had been dead fourteen years be watching me during a classified operation?”
“Because Nightglass wasn’t activated when the database breach happened.”
Cross paused.
“It was activated when you were assigned.”
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“They built the operation around me?”
“Not exactly.”
“Stop saying not exactly.”
I slammed the folder shut.
“What was the purpose?”
Cross stared at me.
“To see whether the succession protocol worked.”
My voice came out flat.
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone wanted to know whether you could find what your grandfather found.”
The convoy exited the interstate.
Streetlights became fewer.
Dark fields replaced neighborhoods.
I looked back at the file.
“And did I?”
Cross didn’t answer.
I opened it again.
The next page was titled NIGHTGLASS TEST RESULT.
Most of the text had been blacked out.
One line remained visible.
SUBJECT MERCER ACCESSED FORBIDDEN ARCHIVE WITHOUT PROMPTING.
Below it:
SUCCESSION CONFIRMED.
I felt physically ill.
“They were testing me.”
“Yes.”
“You let them.”
Cross’s jaw tightened.
“I tried to stop it.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the order came from above me.”
“You’re a four-star general.”
“I wasn’t then.”
“Who gave the order?”
“That is one of the reasons we’re going to Site 7.”
I looked outside.
We were heading south.
Farther from the city.
Closer to Grandma’s land.
The countdown from Tiffany’s phone flashed in my memory.
Two hours.
Then I remembered something else.
“Call Tiffany.”
Cross frowned.
“Why?”
“The countdown.”
“We’re tracking it.”
“No. I want her off that phone.”
Cross immediately understood.
He called one of the officers at the house.
“Confiscate the device. Air-gap it. No network access. Provide the family with clean phones if necessary.”
He listened.
Then frowned.
“What?”
I straightened.
Cross looked at me.
“Tiffany isn’t there.”
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?”
“She left.”
“When?”
“Seven minutes ago.”
“With Brad?”
“No.”
“Dad?”
“No.”
I grabbed my phone.
No messages.
I called her.
Straight to voicemail.
“Track her.”
“They already are.”
“Her car?”
“Still at the house.”
That was worse.
“Camera?”
Cross spoke into the phone.
“Check neighboring security footage.”
A pause.
His expression hardened.
“Send it.”
His secure device buzzed.
He turned it toward me.
Grainy footage showed Tiffany stepping through the side gate.
Alone.
Then a dark sedan pulled up.
She got in.
I stared.
“Zoom.”
Cross enlarged the frame.
The driver’s face was obscured.
But the passenger window lowered for one second.
A man sat in the back.
Dad’s estate consultant.
Daniel Hargrove.
My blood went cold.
“She went willingly.”
Cross didn’t respond.
“She knew him.”
“It appears so.”
I called Tiffany again.
Voicemail.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text.
Tiffany.
One sentence.
I’M SORRY. I HAVE TO FIX THIS.
I immediately typed back.
WHERE ARE YOU?
The typing indicator appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Then:
GRANDMA LEFT SOMETHING FOR ME TOO.
I stared at the message.
“What did she mean?”
Cross leaned closer.
Another text.
YOU WEREN’T THE ONLY ONE SHE TRUSTED.
Then a photograph loaded.
Tiffany was holding a small brass key.
I recognized the ribbon tied through it.
Blue.
Grandma used blue ribbon on everything she wanted us to keep.
I called her again.
This time she answered.
“Tiffany.”
Her breathing was fast.
“Don’t be angry.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Are you with Hargrove?”
Silence.
“Tiffany.”
“He isn’t what you think.”
My stomach tightened.
“Get out of that car.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
She whispered, “Grandma knew this would happen.”
“What?”
“She gave me the key before she died.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Because she made me promise.”
“Tiffany, where does the key go?”
A man’s voice said something faintly near her.
Hargrove.
Then Tiffany said, “There’s another entrance to Site 7.”
Cross’s head snapped toward me.
“Where?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Then why are you going with him?”
“Because he does.”
“Tiffany, listen to me. Hargrove broke into the house.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“What?”
“He wasn’t the person upstairs.”
Cross and I exchanged a look.
“How do you know?”
“Because he was texting me while it happened.”
My pulse changed.
“Texting you?”
“He contacted me before you got home.”
“Tiffany.”
I closed my eyes.
“How long have you been talking to him?”
“Six weeks.”
The betrayal hit harder than it should have.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing important.”
“Tiffany, he knew Nightglass.”
“I never told him that.”
“Did you tell him I was coming home?”
Silence.
My stomach dropped.
“Tiffany.”
“I mentioned the party.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Cross muttered something under his breath.
That was how they knew.
Not some sophisticated surveillance system.
My sister.
A casual message.
I forced my voice to stay calm.
“What does Hargrove want?”
“He says Grandma left evidence underground.”
“Evidence of what?”
“He hasn’t told me.”
“Then get away from him.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
Her voice cracked.
“Ella, he has Dad.”
I stared at the phone.
“What?”
Cross grabbed his radio.
I looked toward the rear SUV.
Dad was supposed to be back at the house.
“What are you talking about?”
“Dad left before I did.”
“No.”
“He called me.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes after you left.”
“What did he say?”
“He said Hargrove wanted to make a trade.”
My pulse hammered.
“Trade what?”
“The transfer documents for Dad’s debt records.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“Tiffany, put Hargrove on the phone.”
“No.”
“Now.”
A rustle.
Then a man’s voice.
Calm.
Educated.
Older than I expected.
“Major Mercer.”
I gripped the phone tighter.
“Hargrove.”
“I’m pleased we can finally speak.”
“Let my sister out of the car.”
“She isn’t a prisoner.”
“Tiffany, get out.”
Silence.
Hargrove said, “She has chosen to help.”
“I don’t care what she chose. Pull over.”
“You sound like your grandmother.”
That stopped me.
“You knew her.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Better than your father did.”
Cross leaned closer, listening.
“What do you want?”
“To finish what Ruth started.”
Grandma.
He said her first name like they had been friends.
“Where is my father?”
“Safe.”
“Put him on.”
A pause.
Then Dad’s voice.
“Ella.”
He sounded terrified.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did they force you into the car?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“You went willingly too.”
“I thought I could fix this.”
“With the man who tried to steal Grandma’s land?”
Dad’s voice cracked.
“I made mistakes.”
“That sentence doesn’t cover tonight.”
“I know.”
“Why are you with him?”
“Hargrove says the property transfer was never about money.”
“Then what was it about?”
“He needed access.”
“To Site 7?”
“Yes.”
“How does owning the land give him access?”
Dad hesitated.
“Because the underground facility isn’t federal property anymore.”
I looked at Cross.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Dad continued.
“According to the deed, everything beneath the property transferred with the surface rights.”
I stared at Cross.
“Is that possible?”
“Yes.”
“Why would the government allow that?”
He didn’t answer.
Hargrove returned to the call.
“Because the government officially abandoned Site 7 in 1991.”
Cross muttered, “That’s not the whole story.”
Hargrove laughed softly.
“General Cross.”
Cross leaned toward the phone.
“Daniel.”
The way he said the name changed everything.
Not Hargrove.
Daniel.
Personal.
Familiar.
“You know him,” I whispered.
Hargrove heard me.
“Oh, he knows me.”
Cross’s face hardened.
“End this.”
“I’ve spent thirty-seven years trying.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who are you?”
Hargrove answered before Cross could.
“My name isn’t Daniel Hargrove.”
I waited.
“My real name is Daniel Raines.”
Raines.
The fake body.
The man supposedly buried under Grandpa’s name.
Peter Raines.
“Peter Raines.”
“My father.”
The SUV seemed to tilt beneath me.
“Your father is buried in my grandfather’s grave.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Samuel Mercer was supposed to die that night.”
Cross’s voice sharpened.
“Daniel, stop.”
“No.”
Hargrove sounded almost amused.
“She deserves the truth.”
I said, “Tell me.”
“In 2009, the government staged Samuel Mercer’s death after an assassination attempt.”
My blood went cold.
“Peter Raines died instead?”
“He was killed protecting Samuel.”
Cross closed his eyes.
Hargrove continued.
“My father died so your grandfather could disappear.”
“And you’ve spent seventeen years blaming him?”
“I spent seventeen years trying to understand why.”
“Did you find out?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Samuel Mercer had the only surviving copy of the Site 7 ledger.”
Cross became completely still.
“What ledger?”
I asked.
Hargrove’s voice lowered.
“A list of every person who participated in the succession program.”
My grip tightened.
“Names?”
“Thousands.”
“Military?”
“Military. Intelligence. Contractors. Politicians.”
Cross said, “Daniel, you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“I know exactly what I’m dealing with.”
“Then you know releasing it gets people killed.”
“So does hiding it.”
I looked at Cross.
“Is he telling the truth?”
Cross didn’t answer.
I shouted.
“Is he?”
“Yes.”
The word filled the car.
I leaned back.
“How many names?”
“Originally?”
Cross exhaled.
“Over four thousand.”
“And now?”
“We don’t know.”
Hargrove answered through the phone.
“Six thousand, eight hundred and twelve.”
Cross’s face changed.
“You’ve seen the ledger.”
“No.”
“Then how do you know the number?”
“Because Ruth Mercer told me.”
My heart stopped.
“Grandma worked with you?”
“For seven years.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To expose Site 7.”
I stared at the phone.
“Then why did she write not to trust Dad?”
“Because Richard tried to sell the land twice before.”
Dad’s voice came faintly in the background.
“I didn’t know what was there.”
Hargrove continued.
“Ruth didn’t trust anyone completely.”
“Did she trust you?”
A pause.
“No.”
That answer felt more believable than anything else he’d said.
“She trusted you enough to work with you.”
“She used me.”
“For what?”
“To keep attention away from you.”
My chest tightened.
“Me?”
“Ella, your grandmother knew succession would eventually activate.”
“How?”
“Because your grandfather told her.”
I looked at Cross.
“What happens after succession activates?”
He didn’t answer.
Hargrove did.
“The successor is brought to Site 7.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“To open the archive.”
I laughed nervously.
“I don’t have a key.”
“Tiffany does.”
I looked toward the dark highway.
The brass key.
“No.”
“Her key opens the outer archive.”
“And mine?”
Hargrove became quiet.
“You are the inner key.”
I felt cold.
“What does that mean?”
“The final archive uses biometric authorization.”
Cross whispered, “Daniel.”
Hargrove ignored him.
“Your grandmother designed the succession chain so nobody could access the ledger alone.”
I stared at the file on my lap.
“Grandma designed it?”
“She and Samuel modified the system.”
“How does it work?”
“Tiffany opens the physical vault.”
“And I?”
“You open the database.”
“With what?”
“Your identity.”
The restricted identifier.
My legal name.
The Nightglass protocol.
Everything suddenly fit together in a way I hated.
The land transfer.
My protected identifier.
Grandma’s inheritance.
Tiffany’s key.
My career.
Nightglass.
All roads led underground.
I said, “Then you need both of us.”
“Yes.”
“Which is why you took Tiffany.”
“She came willingly.”
“You knew I’d follow.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Cross.
“How far are we from Site 7?”
“Forty minutes.”
Hargrove heard him.
“You have twenty-seven.”
“What happens in twenty-seven minutes?”
“The outer vault locks permanently.”
“Why?”
“Security cycle.”
“Can it be reopened?”
“Not without destroying the archive.”
Cross cursed.
Hargrove continued.
“If you want answers, Major, come alone.”
“No.”
Cross shook his head immediately.
I ignored him.
“Where?”
Hargrove sent coordinates.
Cross looked at them.
Western boundary.
Different from the red circle.
A hidden entrance.
“You hurt Tiffany or my father—”
“I won’t.”
“That’s not reassurance.”
“It isn’t meant to be.”
The call ended.
Cross reached for the phone.
“Absolutely not.”
“What?”
“You are not going alone.”
“He has my family.”
“He needs you alive.”
“Exactly.”
“He also needs you isolated.”
“We bring the convoy and he disappears.”
“We don’t know that.”
“We know enough.”
Cross stared at me.
“You are too emotionally involved.”
I almost laughed.
“He has my sister and father at an underground site connected to my dead-but-not-dead grandfather, my grandmother’s secret life, and a classified program that has tracked me since I was sixteen.”
I leaned closer.
“I think we’re past emotional neutrality.”
Cross looked away.
I reopened the file.
More pages.
More redactions.
Then I saw something.
A handwritten note clipped to the back cover.
Not a photocopy.
Original paper.
Grandma’s handwriting.
My heart stopped.
“How did you get this?”
Cross looked at it.
His expression changed.
“I didn’t know that was there.”
I carefully unfolded it.
ELLA,
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, THEN THEY HAVE ALREADY TOLD YOU SOME OF THE TRUTH.
DO NOT LET THEM CHOOSE WHICH PARTS YOU DESERVE TO KNOW.
YOUR GRANDFATHER DID NOT RUN.
HE STAYED BEHIND TO PROTECT SOMETHING.
I TRIED TO PROTECT YOU FROM BECOMING PART OF IT.
I FAILED.
I’M SORRY.
Tiffany’s name appeared next.
TIFFANY HAS THE FIRST KEY.
YOU HAVE THE SECOND.
BUT THERE IS A THIRD.
My heart pounded.
A third key.
I kept reading.
THE THIRD KEY BELONGS TO THE PERSON WHO BETRAYED US IN 1987.
Cross was staring over my shoulder now.
Below that line, Grandma had written:
IF NATHANIEL CROSS IS WITH YOU WHEN YOU READ THIS, ASK HIM ABOUT HIS FATHER.
I stopped.
Slowly, I looked up.
Cross had gone pale.
Not uncomfortable.
Not surprised.
Pale.
“Your father?”
Cross said nothing.
“Grandma knew your father?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He worked at Site 7.”
The SUV went silent.
“What was his name?”
Cross looked out the window.
“Nathaniel Cross Senior.”
“What did he do there?”
“Security.”
My eyes returned to Grandma’s note.
The third key belongs to the person who betrayed us in 1987.
I looked at Cross.
“Was your father the traitor?”
“No.”
Too fast.
I heard it.
So did he.
“General.”
“He was accused.”
“Of what?”
“Opening the facility during the incident.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve had thirty-nine years to find out.”
“I’ve tried.”
“Then why did Grandma write his name?”
Cross looked at the floor.
“Because she believed he survived.”
My stomach dropped again.
“Your father is alive too?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many dead people are still walking around this story?”
Cross almost smiled.
Almost.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown secure number.
He answered.
“Cross.”
Static.
Then a voice.
Old.
Male.
Thin.
But clear.
“Nathaniel.”
Cross froze.
His face emptied completely.
“Who is this?”
The voice laughed softly.
“You know.”
Cross looked at me.
I could see something I had never seen in him before.
Fear.
Real fear.
“Dad?”
My entire body went cold.
The voice continued.
“You shouldn’t have brought Ella back.”
Cross gripped the phone.
“Where are you?”
“Where I’ve always been.”
“Site 7?”
Another soft laugh.
“Ask the girl.”
Then the line disconnected.
Cross didn’t move.
I stared at him.
“That was your father?”
He nodded once.
“You said you didn’t know if he was alive.”
“I didn’t.”
“Now?”
Cross looked older.
“He’s alive.”
My phone buzzed.
Another message from Tiffany.
A photograph.
Dark concrete.
A metal door.
Dad stood beside her.
Hargrove stood behind them.
And between all three of them was an elderly man in a wheelchair.
His face was partially turned away.
But Cross recognized him.
I knew because his breathing changed.
“Nathaniel Cross Senior?”
“Yes.”
I zoomed in.
Something was sitting on the old man’s lap.
A metal key.
The third key.
Then another message appeared beneath the photo.
ALL THREE SUCCESSORS ARE ALMOST HERE.
I frowned.
“Three successors?”
Cross read it.
His face changed.
“There should only be one.”
“Me.”
“Yes.”
A second photograph arrived.
This one showed Grandpa.
Alive.
Standing inside Site 7.
Older.
Thin.
But alive.
My knees nearly gave out even though I was sitting.
Grandpa held a piece of paper toward the camera.
Three names were written on it.
ELLA MERCER.
TIFFANY MERCER.
NATHANIEL CROSS.
I looked at Cross.
“You’re one of the successors.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Your name is right there.”
“That isn’t possible.”
Then a final message came.
Grandpa had written one sentence below the names.
ONE OF THEM MUST NOT LEAVE SITE 7.
I stared at the screen.
Cross stared beside me.
Outside, the highway vanished behind us as the convoy turned onto an unmarked mountain road.
Twenty-two minutes remained on the countdown.
My grandfather was alive.
Cross’s father was alive.
My sister and father were already underground.
And somewhere beneath four hundred acres Grandma had left me was a secret powerful enough to keep two men officially dead for nearly two decades.
But the sentence I couldn’t stop reading was the last one.
ONE OF THEM MUST NOT LEAVE SITE 7.
I looked at Cross.
“Which one?”
He didn’t answer.
Because neither of us knew yet.
And twelve miles ahead, beneath a mountain that officially contained nothing at all, the door to Site 7 was already beginning to open.
