She remembered her mother as a woman who always smelled faintly of lavender, who kept handwritten recipes in a kitchen drawer, and who used to sit beside her bed whenever thunder frightened her.
She remembered the hospital.
The funeral.
The black dress her father wore.
The photograph placed beside the coffin.
And the final promise her father had made.
You and me, sweetheart. We'll be all right.
Victoria had been twenty-two.
Her mother had supposedly died from complications following an illness.
Twelve years earlier.
She looked at Eleanor.
“You knew my mother?”
Eleanor nodded slowly.
“I met her.”
“When?”
“Before everything happened.”
“Before what?”
Eleanor swallowed.
“Before the investigation.”
Victoria stepped closer.
“What investigation?”
Eleanor looked around the ballroom. Several guests were still watching.
“I can't talk about this here.”
Victoria laughed once, without humor.
“You had no problem humiliating me here.”
“Please.”
“You slapped me in front of two hundred people. You called me an embarrassment. You told everyone I didn't belong in this room.”
Eleanor's eyes filled.
“I didn't know.”
Victoria touched the injury on her cheek.
“You didn't need to know who I was to understand that you shouldn't put your hands on me.”
Eleanor looked down.
For the first time that evening, she had no answer.
Then Victoria asked the question that mattered.
“Is my mother alive?”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Victoria stopped breathing.
The answer was barely audible.
But it was enough.
“Where is she?”
Eleanor looked toward Charles.
He had turned away.
“I don't know.”
Victoria's voice dropped.
“Then why did you say yes?”
“Because I saw her.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
Victoria felt the room tilt.
“Where?”
Eleanor began to cry.
“At a private medical facility outside Annapolis.”
Victoria grabbed the edge of the table.
“What was she doing there?”
“Receiving treatment.”
“What kind of treatment?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you speak to her?”
Eleanor nodded.
“What did she say?”
Eleanor hesitated.
Then she whispered:
“She asked me whether you still wore your father's watch.”
Victoria instinctively looked down at her wrist.
A simple silver watch rested beneath the cuff of her uniform.
Her father had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday.
The back was engraved with a short message:
ALWAYS FIND YOUR WAY HOME. — DAD
Victoria's fingers closed around it.
Her mother remembered.
After twelve years, she remembered.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Eleanor looked at her.
“Because Charles said she would be killed if I did.”
Charles suddenly turned.
“That's enough!”
Victoria faced him.
“You don't get to decide when this conversation ends.”
He took a step forward.
“You have no idea what you're dealing with.”
Victoria stared at him.
“Then start explaining.”
Charles looked at her for a long moment.
Then he said:
“Your father stole something from the Navy.”
Victoria's expression hardened.
“My father reported stolen intelligence.”
“He stole classified material.”
“He reported the theft.”
“He took the files.”
“Because the original records proved someone was selling naval intelligence.”
Charles shook his head.
“That's what he told you.”
Victoria looked at him.
“That's what the evidence shows.”
Charles gave a bitter smile.
“Evidence can be manufactured.”
Victoria nodded slowly.
“Exactly.”
She turned toward Collins.
“Get the original transfer records from the federal archive. The sealed copies, not the summaries.”
Collins looked at her.
“You know where they are?”
“I know where my father told me to look.”
Charles suddenly went pale.
“Don't.”
Victoria turned.
“What?”
He swallowed.
“Don't open that archive.”
“Why?”
“Because if you open it, you'll find out what your father really did.”
Victoria stepped closer.
“Good.”
She paused.
“Then I'll finally know why you were so afraid of him.”