Chapter 2 - The Camera
The next time the door opened, the woman carried a folding chair.
She placed it three feet from Mara and sat with her ankles crossed. The man stood beside her, holding the phone. In daylight, Mara could see that his tattoo was not three lines but three narrow bars connected by a tiny triangle.
“Let’s start over,” the woman said. “My name is Dana. This is Cole.”
“Are you police?”
Cole snorted. Dana ignored the question.
“You were involved in an investigation that put several people in danger. We need the original files. Give us the drive, and this ends.”
“If you know there are original files, you know I made copies.”
The phone tilted toward her face. Dana’s expression sharpened.
“You’re not in a position to negotiate.”
“Neither are you, or you wouldn’t be filming.”
Cole stepped forward. “You think this is a game?”
“No. I think you want someone else to watch this.”
Dana glanced at him. It lasted less than a second, but Mara saw it: a flicker of irritation, followed by agreement. The recording mattered. It was not only for amusement.
Dana pressed a button on the phone. “Tell the camera why you were fired from the county office.”
“I wasn’t fired.”
“Tell it.”
Mara looked past the lens. “I found inspection reports that had been altered after the Briar Court fire. I reported it. The county opened a review.”
Cole grabbed the back of the chair and dragged it closer. The metal legs screeched over tile.
“You found nothing.”
“Then why are you here?”
His jaw tightened. Dana lifted one hand, stopping him.
“You have a baby coming,” she said. “Think carefully. Pride is expensive.”
Mara thought of the clinic’s warm examination room and the technician who had shown her the baby’s profile on a grainy screen. She thought of her sister Tessa waiting outside with two paper cups of coffee. She thought of the blue drive and the ledger copied from a county server.
“What happens if I give it to you?”
“You leave.”
“And the recordings?”
Dana smiled. “Those are insurance.”
The word settled in the room. Insurance meant they expected betrayal. Insurance meant they believed someone powerful was behind them.
Cole began filming a second angle. He crouched beside the toilet and pointed the camera toward Mara.
“Look at her,” he said. “She says she’s a victim, but she stole confidential records and put families at risk.”
Mara let her shoulders sag. “Please don’t.”
“Say it.”
She made her eyes wet without letting herself cry. Years of listening to angry public meetings had taught her that people revealed more when they thought they were in control.
“I stole the records,” she said quietly. “I caused the investigation.”
Cole grinned. Dana looked satisfied.
“And where is the drive?”
Mara swallowed. “At home.”
“Where?”
“In a drawer.”
Cole cursed. Dana reached for the phone.
Mara shifted her foot against the chain and felt a loose tile edge press into her heel. She had noticed it earlier, but now she understood why it mattered. The tile was newer than the others. It had been fitted around the metal ring instead of beneath it.
“Give us the address,” Dana said.
“You already know it.”
Dana’s eyes narrowed.
“How would we know that?”
“You took me from the clinic. You knew my appointment time. You followed me.”
For the first time, neither person spoke.
Mara watched the phone’s screen. Behind Dana’s reflection, the blue wall appeared again. A strip of lettering was visible near the ceiling, but only three letters: R I V.
Cole stopped recording.
“What are you looking at?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
He turned the phone around and studied the reflection. Dana rose abruptly.
“Enough for today.”
“I need water,” Mara said.
“You had water.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Dana’s mouth tightened. “You’re being dramatic.”
The door closed. The room went quiet again.
Mara waited until the footsteps faded. Then she pulled the folded lighthouse napkin from beneath her thigh and smoothed it on the floor.
At the bottom, beneath the blue outline, were four tiny printed words: Harbor House Café.
May you like
She had never heard of the place. But she had seen the same lighthouse image on a stack of folders in the Briar Court file room.
She held the napkin to her chest and whispered the words until they stayed in her mind.
