Chapter 4 - Someone Had My Credentials
"Lock it."
I was already standing.
Agent Cole nodded.
"It's being frozen."
"No. Lock everything connected to my credentials. Federal access, banking authentication, secure remote access."
Mason pulled out his phone.
"I'm calling command security."
Mom threw up her hands.
"This is ridiculous."
I turned on her.
"Someone just used credentials that are supposed to exist on one encrypted device."
She blinked.
"So?"
"So they are not in my purse. They're not in my apartment. They're not on my home computer."
I stepped closer.
"They exist on a secure token stored at a controlled facility."
My mother's face changed.
For the first time, she understood that whatever she had gotten involved in might be bigger than she could manipulate.
Sienna sat back down.
"Could someone steal it?"
"Not easily."
Mason moved toward the corner and spoke quietly into his phone.
Mercer looked at me.
"When did you last use the token?"
"Yesterday morning."
"Where?"
I stopped.
At my office.
Which meant someone with access to a secured federal site had either compromised the system or duplicated my authentication.
That was bad.
Very bad.
Agent Cole turned to Mom.
"Who introduced you to Patricia Wells?"
Mom folded her arms.
"I don't remember."
"Try."
"I meet lots of people."
"She notarized a fraudulent financial request."
"Then talk to her."
"We'd love to."
Cole's expression hardened.
"Unfortunately, nobody can find her."
Silence.
Mom blinked.
"What does that mean?"
"Her apartment is empty. Her phone was disconnected. Her employer says she resigned yesterday."
Sienna whispered a curse.
I looked at my mother.
"How did you meet her?"
"I said I don't remember."
"You remember exactly."
"Stop talking to me like I'm one of your soldiers."
"Then stop behaving like a suspect."
She stood so fast her chair nearly tipped over.
"I am your mother."
"And that hasn't stopped you from lying once tonight."
Her eyes filled with rage.
"Your father did this to you."
I laughed once.
"What?"
"He taught you that uniform matters more than blood."
"You didn't even know I wore one."
That shut her up.
The door opened.
A hotel security manager stepped inside.
"General Reed?"
Mason ended his call.
"What?"
"We have an issue upstairs."
My heart sank.
"Our suite?"
The manager nodded.
"Someone entered it about twenty minutes ago."
Mason and I moved at the same time.
Mom called after us.
"Where are you going?"
Neither of us answered.
We took the elevator with two security officers.
My engagement party continued five floors below us, but the celebration was over.
The hallway outside our suite was empty.
The electronic lock showed no damage.
Mason stopped me before I entered.
"Stay behind me."
"I'm armed."
"So am I."
"Then we're both happy."
Despite everything, his mouth twitched.
For half a second, I felt normal again.
Then we stepped inside.
Nothing looked disturbed.
Flowers on the table.
Mason's overnight bag near the sofa.
My dress bag hanging beside the closet.
Two champagne glasses waiting beside a bottle we had never gotten the chance to open.
I scanned the room.
"Bedroom."
Clear.
Bathroom.
Clear.
Balcony.
Clear.
Mason checked the safe.
Opened.
Empty.
My stomach dropped.
"I didn't put anything in there."
"I did."
He looked furious.
"What?"
"A folder."
"What folder?"
He turned toward me.
"Your father's."
I froze.
"What are you talking about?"
"His attorney delivered it this morning."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because he specifically instructed me to give it to you after the party."
"Why you?"
"I don't know."
I stared at the empty safe.
"What was inside?"
"I never opened it."
Hotel security entered.
"We're pulling hallway cameras."
Mason looked under the desk.
Then stopped.
"Olivia."
I walked over.
A small white envelope lay beneath the chair.
My name was written across the front.
Not printed.
Handwritten.
OLIVIA.
I knew that handwriting.
I had seen it on birthday cards.
Deployment letters.
Notes tucked into my lunchbox when I was eight.
My hands started shaking.
"Dad."
Mason stared at the envelope.
I tore it open.
Inside was one index card.
Six words.
IF THEY COME FOR THE MONEY, RUN.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Mason looked over my shoulder.
"What the hell?"
On the back was another message.
One line.
TRUST NO ONE WHO SAYS NORTHSTAR.
I stopped breathing.
Because downstairs, my mother had just told investigators she barely knew Patricia Wells.
But when I was sixteen years old, I remembered hearing my parents screaming behind a locked office door.
And one word had cut through the walls clearly enough that I never forgot it.
May you like
Northstar.
My mother had known that name for at least sixteen years.
