The general moved immediately.
He closed the archive file and handed it to one of the security officers who had entered the room.
“Secure this.”
The officer took it.
My father stepped toward me.
“Stay behind me.”
I almost laughed.
After twenty-six years of keeping me at a distance, he suddenly wanted to stand between me and danger.
But his face stopped me.
He wasn't pretending.
“I'm not hiding behind you,” I said.
“I know.”
“Then don't ask me to.”
He nodded.
The general spoke into his radio.
“Seal the archive level. Nobody enters or exits without clearance.”
Static answered.
Then a voice came through.
“Sir, we've got a problem.”
“What?”
“Two access points have been opened.”
The general looked at me.
“How many people are supposed to be on this level?”
“Eight.”
“How many are there now?”
The officer checked his tablet.
“Seven.”
The general's expression hardened.
“Find the missing person.”
The officer moved.
My father stayed beside me.
I looked at him.
“Who was the missing person?”
“We don't know yet.”
“You don't know?”
“He could have been support staff.”
“Or?”
My father didn't answer.
The general did.
“Or someone who wanted us to think he was support staff.”
A door slammed somewhere down the corridor.
Everyone turned.
The sound echoed through the archive.
My father instinctively reached for my shoulder.
I stepped away.
He lowered his hand.
“Sorry.”
I had never heard him say that word so many times in one day.
We waited.
Nothing happened.
Then the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The security officer cursed.
“Power fluctuation.”
The general looked toward the ceiling.
“Backup.”
The emergency system activated.
Red lights appeared along the corridor.
My father looked at the photograph still in my hand.
“You need to give that to me.”
“No.”
“It's evidence.”
“It's also the first photograph I've ever had of myself as a baby.”
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Keep it.”
That small concession affected me more than it should have.
A sound came from behind the far shelves.
The officer raised his weapon.
“Who's there?”
No answer.
He moved forward.
The general signaled him to stop.
Another officer appeared from the adjoining corridor.
He was breathing hard.
“Sir, we found the missing guard.”
“Where?”
“In the stairwell.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Unconscious?”
“Yes.”
The general's eyes narrowed.
“Then we have a breach.”
He turned to me.
“Stay here.”
I shook my head.
“You're not leaving me alone.”
“You'll stay with your father.”
My father gave the general a look.
The general returned it.
For the first time, I wondered whether these two men had been having this conversation about me for years.
The general left with the security team.
My father and I were alone.
Twenty-six years of silence suddenly seemed ridiculous.
“You really never hated me?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“No.”
“Did you ever regret having me?”
His face changed.
“Never.”
“Then why?”
He sat on the edge of the table.
“Because when your mother discovered what they were doing, she realized I had been compromised.”
“What does that mean?”
“I was working with people I believed I could trust.”
“The man in the photograph.”
“Yes.”
“He betrayed you.”
“I don't know if betrayal is the right word.”
“What is?”
“Control.”
I waited.
My father continued.
“He knew things about me that could have destroyed my career and exposed people around me. He used that knowledge to make me cooperate.”
“With what?”
“Moving information.”
“Classified information?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Were you a spy?”
He looked at me.
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“I was an officer who made terrible choices because I believed I could control the consequences.”
“And my mother discovered them.”
“She discovered enough.”
“What did she know about you?”
“That I had been helping him.”
I stared at him.
My father had not been innocent.
That mattered.
Whatever fear had driven him, whatever danger had surrounded my mother, he had made choices.
“You weren't just protecting me.”
“No.”
“You were protecting yourself.”
He lowered his head.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt more than an excuse would have.
“Did my mother know?”
“She knew.”
“Did she forgive you?”
“I don't know.”
He looked toward the closed door.
“She was angry.”
“I would have been too.”
“She told me that if I disappeared, she would make sure you knew the truth someday.”
“And she never got the chance.”
“No.”
A sharp sound came from the corridor.
We both turned.
A shadow moved beneath the door.
My father stood.
“Behind me.”
This time, I didn't argue.
The door opened.
The general entered.
“It was one of ours.”
My father relaxed slightly.
“What happened?”
“The missing guard was attacked with a sedative.”
“Who did it?”
“We don't know.”
I looked at the general.
“Someone got into the building.”
“Yes.”
“Are we safe?”
“No.”
He looked at the photograph in my hand.
“That's why we need to move.”
We left the archive through a secure passage.
The hallway seemed different now.
Every camera felt like an eye.
Every closed door seemed capable of hiding someone.
The general led us downstairs.
Halfway there, he stopped.
“What?”
He pointed to a small security panel.
Someone had entered a code manually.
The access log displayed a name.
I read it.
My father's name.
I looked at him.
“You did this?”
“No.”
The general checked the time.
“It was entered seven minutes ago.”
My father stared at the panel.
“That isn't my code.”
The general looked at me.
“Someone has access to his credentials.”
“Or someone wants us to believe he does.”
I said it before thinking.
Both men looked at me.
The general nodded slowly.
“Exactly.”
We continued.
When we reached the secure room, the general locked the door.
My father remained standing.
“You need to leave Washington.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“You don't understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“They know you exist.”
“They've known for twenty-six years.”
“They know where you are now.”
“That changes things.”
“Yes.”
“So I'm staying.”
My father looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because I'm done running from a secret I didn't create.”
He looked at me for a long time.
Then he nodded.
“Your mother would have said the same thing.”
I looked at him.
“You knew her better than I did.”
His eyes filled again.
“She loved you more than anything.”
I looked away.
I couldn't bear hearing it from him.
The general opened another folder.
“There is one thing we haven't discussed.”
“What?”
“The name written in your mother's letter.”
I looked down.
The name was still there.
“What about it?”
“We found a recent record connected to that name.”
“Where?”
“Your military personnel file.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Someone altered it.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
The general turned the screen toward me.
A line had been inserted into my record.
Emergency contact: unknown.
Parentage: sealed.
Then another line.
Genetic relation: pending verification.
I stared at it.
“Genetic relation?”
My father stepped forward.
The general looked at him.
“Someone has requested a DNA comparison.”
“With whom?”
The general didn't answer immediately.
Then he said,
“With your father.”
My father went pale.
I looked between them.
“Why would anyone need a DNA test if everyone already knows he's my father?”
The general's voice was quiet.
“Because according to one set of records, he isn't.”
The room seemed to freeze.
My father stared at the screen.
“That file was destroyed.”
The general looked at him.
“Apparently not.”
I felt the floor beneath me become uncertain.
“What are you saying?”
My father closed his eyes.
“I was afraid this day would come.”
“Tell me.”
He opened his eyes.
“Your mother believed you were mine.”
I couldn't breathe.
The general added quietly,
“But the records suggest someone else may be your biological father.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: My Father Admitted He Had Never Known Whether I Was His Daughter, and the Answer Could Explain Why My Mother Was Killed
The Day My Father Looked Straight at Me in Uniform and Ordered Me to Become a Stranger
Part 6 of 12
