Chapter 18: Behind the Locked Door

The door slammed in my face so fast it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.

For a moment, I just stood there.

Frozen.

Rejected.

Crushed.

Then I stepped back, breathing hard.

James was already at my side. "What did he say?"

"Nothing," I muttered. "He just… looked at me. Then shut me out."

James sighed and glanced at the quiet cottage. "He recognized you."

"I saw it in his eyes. He knew exactly who I was."

"So why slam the door?"

"I don't know," I whispered. "But I'm not leaving. Not until I know the truth."

James looked me over. "You're sure?"

"I've come too far to walk away now."

He didn't argue.

We sat in the car parked just down the lane, waiting. Watching. For hours.

At one point, Richard stepped outside. Watered a few plants. Looked up and down the road. But he never looked toward our car.

Never looked at me.

"He's hiding something," James said. "That cottage has security cameras. And there's reinforced glass on the windows. He's expecting someone to come for him."

"Not a daughter," I said quietly. "A threat."

By sunset, James leaned forward. "If we're going to get anything out of him, we need to stop knocking politely."

"You want to break in?" I asked, half-smiling.

"I want answers. And I know where he keeps them."

James reached into his jacket and pulled out a small flat drive.

"This holds a tracer. If we can plug it into his router or home terminal, I can mirror any device on the property."

"Meaning we don't need him to talk."

He nodded. "But we need to get in first."

We waited until midnight.

Then, cloaked in black hoodies and silence, we made our way to the back of the cottage. James disabled the security alarm with a flick of his wrist — technology was his second language.

A window in the kitchen was unlocked.

We climbed in.

The cottage was silent, smelling faintly of coffee and dust. Old books lined the shelves. An unlit fireplace. A photo on the mantle caught my eye.

It was of my mother.

Sophia.

Young. Glowing. Holding a baby.

Me.

I reached for it — but James touched my wrist.

"Later," he whispered. "Find the server first."

We moved down the hallway until we found a small office — filled with old tech, monitors, and boxes of archived files.

James got to work, locating the router and plugging in the tracer. "I need three minutes."

I nodded and scanned the room.

And that's when I saw it.

A locked drawer beneath the desk — heavy, metal, with a keyhole that looked nearly ancient.

"Can you open this?" I whispered.

James glanced down. "Give me a second."

He picked it quickly, revealing a hidden stack of folders.

I reached in.

The first file was labeled:

> Project E: Eliminate

My blood ran cold.

Inside were names.

Women.

Dates.

Photos.

Sophia Moore's photo was there — circled in red.

Along with a note:

> "Target terminated. Child unknown."

I flipped further — until I found something worse.

A contract.

Signed by Johnathan Windsor.

And Richard Hale.

I sank to the floor.

"He signed it," I whispered. "He knew."

James froze. "Amelia…"

"He didn't just abandon us. He agreed to erase us."

Suddenly, a light snapped on above us.

We turned.

And there he was.

Richard Hale.

Standing in the doorway with a revolver in his hand.

"Step away from those files," he said, his voice quiet but dangerous.

I stood slowly. "You lied to me."

"I never lied. I just disappeared."

"You signed her death."

He looked at the floor. "I tried to protect her."

"By selling her out?"

"I thought I could stop them from going after you. But I was wrong."

"You left me to be raised by strangers. You let her die alone."

He stepped forward — and for a second, the revolver trembled in his hand.

"I know," he said softly. "And I've regretted it every day since."

Tears burned behind my eyes.

"Then tell me everything. Right now."