It was nearly midnight when Averie pulled into the underground parking lot beneath her father's campaign headquarters.

The air was still, thick with the weight of things never meant to be found.

She parked in the far corner and killed the lights.

Hazel had given her the access code - an old one from her grandmother's day that somehow still worked.

3791. Evelyn's birthday.

Inside, the lobby lights glowed soft blue, the security desk long abandoned. She moved fast, heart pounding, each step louder than it should've been.

Vault C was down a side hallway. Past the photo wall of campaign wins and donor dinners. Past the fake smiles and borrowed glory.

She reached the steel door. Swiped her keycard. Typed in the code.

A slow beep.

Then a green light.

It opened.

The vault was colder than the rest of the building. Clinical. Rows of locked file drawers lined the walls like teeth. Metal shelves held binders labeled with things like STRATEGY, DONORS, OPPOSITION FILES, and FAMILY.

She headed straight for the locked drawer Wes had circled in his notes.

Bottom row. Far right.

The key was in a box just above it, hidden under fake expense reports.

Her hands shook as she slid it in.

"Click."

The drawer groaned open.

Inside: a small black box. A battered envelope.

She opened the envelope first.

"Session Notes - Evelyn Langford"

The words blurred as tears welled again. She flipped through pages of evaluations, red stamps, doctor signatures.

They all said the same thing: "Emotionally stable. Cognitively intact. No indication of mental illness."

She whispered, "They lied about all of it."

And then she opened the black box.

Inside - tapes. Real ones. Labeled by date.

Avery scanned until she found it. The one marked:

"Session 6 - Evelyn discusses Samuel."

Her thumb hovered over the play button on the small handheld player included in the

case.

Then - a voice crackled to life.

"I told them I loved him. They said I was imagining things. That it wasn't real. But

it was. It was. He made me feel seen. Like I was more than a name and a dress

and a signature on a dotted line?"

Averie clutched the player to her chest.

The proof was here. The whole truth.

Her father knew.

He'd locked it up for decades.

She started recording it all on her phone.

That's when the sound of a click behind her made her freeze.

She turned slowly.

And there he was.

Her father. In the doorway. No tie. No smile. Just fury and power coiled in his frame like a snake.

"I told them you were getting reckless," he said. "But I didn't think you'd be this stupid."

Averie stood tall, holding the tape player at her side.

"You can't bury her again," she said.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Who do you think will believe you?" he asked. "You're a child with a recording. I'm a senator with an army."

"You're a coward," she said, voice steady. "And you're afraid."

He moved fast - grabbed the tape from her hands before she could stop him.

"You don't get to rewrite history, Averie."

She lifted her phone, recording still running.

"I don't have to," she said. "You just did it for me."

His eyes widened - just a flicker - before rage replaced it.

And then -

The vault door slammed shut.

Someone had closed it from the outside.

Averie and her father were locked inside.