"What about his old colleagues?"
"I haven't spoken to them in years."
Natalie approached the desk.
"Then perhaps we should begin there."
Camille closed the laptop.
For several seconds, she remained silent.
There was something uncomfortable about investigating her own father's past.
She had spent years examining the actions of powerful people. She had questioned police officers, government administrators, and senior executives.
But this was different.
She was no longer simply searching for evidence.
She was searching for an explanation of a man she had loved and trusted.
Finally, she stood.
"Find his old employment records. I want every position he held, every department he worked in, and every public investigation connected to his name."
Natalie nodded.
"And Camille?"
"Yes?"
"Whatever we discover, it doesn't change the fact that he was your father."
Camille offered a faint smile.
"I know. But I need to know the truth."
That evening, she drove to the small house where she had grown up.
The neighborhood had changed very little.
The same large oak tree stood beside the entrance. The same bakery remained on the corner. A few houses had been renovated, but the quiet street still looked almost exactly as it had when Camille was a child.
She unlocked the front door.
The house smelled faintly of old books and polished wood.
Her parents' photographs were still arranged on the living room shelf.
Camille walked slowly toward her father's study.
It had been years since she had entered the room.
His old desk remained near the window. A collection of history books occupied the shelves. His reading glasses were still inside a small wooden box.
She ran her fingers over the desk.
Then she noticed something.
One of the drawers was slightly uneven.
She pulled it open.
Inside were old envelopes, tax documents, photographs, and several notebooks.
At the bottom was a small brown leather folder.
It had no label.
Camille opened it.
The first page contained a handwritten note.
The handwriting was unmistakably her father's.
If someone ever asks about the records from 2012, do not believe the first explanation you hear. The truth is not in the official report.
Camille's heart began beating faster.
She turned the page.
There was another note.
Arthur knows what happened. But he was not the only person who was afraid.
She sat down slowly.
Arthur Bennett.
The former police commissioner who had appeared at the public hearing.
Her father had known him.
And apparently, Daniel had known much more about the 2012 investigation than Camille had ever been told.
She continued reading.
The final page contained an address.
Beneath it were four handwritten words.
Ask Eleanor about the blue box.
Camille looked at the page for a long time.
Then she reached for her phone.
She had no idea who Eleanor was.
But she intended to find out.
The following morning, Camille arrived at the accountability office carrying her father's leather folder.
Natalie immediately noticed it.
"Did you find something?"
Camille placed the folder on the desk.
"More than I expected."
She explained the handwritten messages and showed Natalie the address.
It belonged to a residential care community in the northern part of Westbridge.
A woman named Eleanor Hayes lived there.
According to the public records, Eleanor had once worked as a senior administrative assistant in the mayor's office.
She had retired in 2014.
Camille called the facility and requested a meeting.
The receptionist initially explained that Eleanor did not usually accept visitors without an appointment.
But when Camille mentioned Daniel Rivers, the receptionist became quiet.
"Could you hold for a moment?"
Several minutes passed.
Then an older woman's voice came through the phone.
"Camille?"
Camille froze.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"My name is Eleanor Hayes. I knew your father."
Camille tightened her grip on the phone.
"How did you know it was me?"
Eleanor gave a tired laugh.
"Your father used to talk about you constantly. He said you were stubborn, intelligent, and far too curious for your own good."
Despite everything, Camille smiled.
"That sounds like him."
There was a brief silence.
Then Eleanor asked:
"Did you find the folder?"
Camille's smile disappeared.
"Yes."
"Then it's time we talked."
They arranged to meet that afternoon.
Eleanor lived in a small apartment inside the care community. The room was filled with books, family photographs, and carefully arranged flowers.
She was seventy-eight years old, with silver hair and a gentle face.
When Camille entered, Eleanor stood slowly.
For several seconds, she simply looked at her.
"You have your father's eyes," she said.
Camille sat opposite her.
"I found a note with your name on it."
Eleanor nodded.
"I wondered when that day would come."
"Can you tell me what happened in 2012?"
Eleanor walked toward a cabinet.
She opened the lower drawer and removed a small blue metal box.
Camille stared at it.
"Is this the blue box?"
Eleanor nodded.
"Your father asked me to keep it."
She placed it on the table.
The box was old and slightly scratched. A small brass lock held it shut.
"What's inside?"
"Documents. Letters. And a recording."
Camille leaned forward.
"A recording of what?"
Eleanor looked toward the window.
"A meeting that was never supposed to exist."
She unlocked the box.
Inside were several folded papers, an old flash drive, and a small envelope.
Eleanor removed the envelope first.
"Your father discovered that several public records had been deliberately altered. At the beginning, he thought the problem was limited to a few administrative employees."
"What did he discover?"
"That some of the changes were being requested by people outside the departments responsible for maintaining the records."
Camille listened carefully.
"Who?"
Eleanor looked directly at her.
"Senior city officials. People who had the authority to approve contracts, authorize system access, and influence internal investigations."
Camille's expression became serious.
"Was Victor Langford involved?"
Eleanor shook her head slightly.
"Victor was involved later. The original arrangement began before he became deputy commissioner."
"Then who was responsible?"
Eleanor hesitated.
"Arthur Bennett knew about it. Your father knew about it. And there was another man who controlled the technology contracts."
"Daniel Cross?"
Eleanor nodded.
Camille remembered Rachel's report.
The private contractor.
The technology adviser.
The man who had worked closely with Victor Langford.
"Why did my father keep this information secret?"
Eleanor's eyes became wet.
"Because he was trying to protect someone."
"Who?"
Eleanor placed her hand over the blue box.
"Your mother."
Camille felt the room become strangely quiet.
"My mother?"
Eleanor nodded.