We found the nurse's locker empty.
Her name was Elena Ward.
She had worked at the rehabilitation center for four years.
According to the administrator, she had never been disciplined.
No complaints.
No suspicious absences.
No financial problems.
No reason anyone could immediately identify.
Yet she had been standing beside my father's room while he was taken.
And she had lied to me.
I stood in the locker room while Viktor searched the small metal compartment.
“Nothing,” he said.
I looked inside.
A folded uniform.
A pair of shoes.
A photograph.
I picked up the photograph.
It showed Elena standing beside a young man.
The man was smiling.
I didn't recognize him.
Viktor did.
“That's Markus.”
“Your former partner?”
“Yes.”
“He isn't dead.”
“No.”
“Then what happened three months ago?”
Viktor stared at the photograph.
“Markus disappeared.”
“You said he died.”
“I believed he did.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No.”
He turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
A date.
And a location.
I recognized the location immediately.
The warehouse from my father's photographs.
“We're going there.”
Viktor shook his head.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because that's where they want us.”
“Everything is where they want us.”
He looked at me.
“That is exactly why we need to stop moving according to their plan.”
I wanted to argue.
Then the administrator entered.
“You need to leave.”
“Why?”
“Police have arrived.”
“Good.”
He lowered his voice.
“They aren't looking for the people who took your father.”
“What?”
“They're looking for you.”
Viktor's expression hardened.
“Why?”
The administrator handed him a document.
“Someone filed a complaint alleging that Ms. Keller accessed restricted medical records.”
I stared at him.
“I never accessed anything.”
“I know.”
“Then why would they say that?”
“Because they want you arrested.”
Viktor read the document.
“This is fabricated.”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
The administrator looked frightened.
“You should leave.”
We did.
The police were already entering through the front doors.
Viktor pulled me into a side corridor.
“Do you have your passport?”
“Yes.”
“Phone?”
“Yes.”
“Money?”
“Yes.”
“Then we're leaving the city.”
I stopped.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“My father is still here.”
“We can't find him if you're in custody.”
“I won't be arrested.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know they want me arrested.”
“That makes it worse.”
I looked at him.
“Then help me.”
He studied me.
Finally, he nodded.
We left through the loading entrance.
His driver wasn't there.
Viktor checked his phone.
“Compromised.”
“Meaning?”
“They know the car.”
We walked three blocks before stopping at a small café.
I sat in the corner with my back against the wall.
Viktor ordered coffee.
Neither of us drank it.
I opened the photographs from my father's case on my phone.
One by one, I examined them.
Warehouse.
Conference.
Shipping containers.
Equipment crates.
Then I saw something I had missed before.
A number printed on one crate.
I zoomed in.
Viktor leaned closer.
“That shipment number.”
“You recognize it?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
He didn't answer.
“Viktor.”
“It belonged to a project that officially never existed.”
“Why?”
“Because the project was cancelled.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
The same year as my conference photograph.
I felt a chill.
“The conference.”
“Yes.”
“Was that connected?”
“Possibly.”
I opened the photograph again.
The blurred man standing beside me was holding a folder.
I zoomed in.
A corner of the folder carried the same symbol as the black case.
Viktor saw it.
“That's impossible.”
“What?”
“That symbol belonged to a private research program.”
“What kind?”
“Human performance.”
I stared at him.
“Medical?”
“Partly.”
“What does that mean?”
He hesitated.
“It means they were developing rehabilitation systems for people with severe neurological injuries.”
I thought of my father.
His accident.
His medical knowledge.
His work.
Then another thought struck me.
“What if my father wasn't investigating them?”
Viktor looked at me.
“What do you mean?”
“What if he helped them?”
Viktor didn't answer.
I remembered the words in the notebook.
ANNA KNOWS NOTHING.
Not Anna is innocent.
Not Anna must be protected.
Anna knows nothing.
There was a difference.
My father hadn't written that because he thought I was uninvolved.
He had written it because he knew I was involved without knowing it.
I felt sick.
“What did they do at that conference?”
Viktor looked down.
“They tested something.”
“What?”
“A translation protocol.”
I frowned.
“That doesn't sound dangerous.”
“It wasn't supposed to be.”
“Then what happened?”
“Someone discovered that the translated documents were being altered.”
“Altered how?”
“Certain instructions were changed between languages.”
My heart began to pound.
“Instructions for what?”
“Treatment protocols.”
I looked at him.
“You mean patients could have received the wrong treatment.”
“Yes.”
“And my father found out.”
“That's what I think.”
“Then why was my photograph used?”
Viktor was silent.
I answered my own question.
“Because I translated the documents.”
“Yes.”
“But I didn't know they were altered.”
“No.”
“Someone used my work.”
“Yes.”
The pieces were beginning to connect.
My father's investigation.
The conference.
The altered documents.
The photograph.
The company.
The people following us.
But one piece still didn't fit.
“Why would they need me now?”
Viktor looked at me.
“Because the system is being restarted.”
“What system?”
“The same one.”
He opened his phone.
A secure message had arrived.
He read it.
Then he turned the screen toward me.
A photograph.
A laboratory.
Several computers.
And a date.
Tomorrow.
I stared at it.
“Where is this?”
Viktor's face had gone pale.
“Under my company headquarters.”
I looked at him.
“You said your office was compromised.”
“It is.”
“Then someone is using your company.”
“Yes.”
“To restart the project.”
“Yes.”
“And my father knows how to stop it.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“Then that's where we're going.”
Viktor grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
I looked down at his hand.
He released me.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
“My former partner isn't working against the project.”
I waited.
“He's running it.”
The café suddenly seemed unbearably quiet.
“You're saying Markus is alive.”
“Yes.”
“And he took my father.”
“Yes.”
“And Elena works for him.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would Markus leave the photograph?”
Viktor stared at me.
“Because he wanted us to find it.”
“Why?”
He didn't answer.
My phone vibrated.
Another message.
This time there was no photograph.
Only a sentence.
ASK VIKTOR WHO WAS IN THE SECOND SURVIVOR FILE.
I looked up.
“What's the second survivor file?”
Viktor's face went completely still.
“You don't want to know.”
“That means I absolutely do.”
He closed his eyes.
Then whispered:
“My sister.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: Viktor’s Sister Was the Missing Second Survivor, and Her Story Explained Why My Father Had Spent Years Preparing Me for This Moment
The Hundred-Dollar Bill That Was Meant to Humiliate Me Revealed Something Far More Dangerous Than Arrogance
Part 7 of 12
