The sound of the vault door locking echoed like a gunshot.

Averie stood frozen, her phone still recording, her father's hand clenched tightly around the cassette tape.

They were sealed in.

"I didn't shut it," he muttered, moving to the door and slamming a fist against it. "Dammit."

Averie stayed silent, watching him like she was seeing him for the first time - not as a senator, not as her father, but as a man caught in a trap he built himself.

He turned back toward her, jaw tight. "You can stop recording now."

"I won't," she said. "Because you'll twist everything once we get out of here."

"I'm protecting you," he growled.

"You're protecting yourself." Her voice cracked with disbelief. "You locked her away."

He didn't answer.

"You let everyone think she lost her mind. You let me think she was broken."

"She was in love with the wrong man," he snapped. "And that love almost destroyed this family. You don't know what it cost us to clean it up."

"She wasn't a mess to be cleaned up," Averie shot back. "She was a person. A mother. A woman in love. And you let her rot."

He was quiet for a long beat.

And then, unexpectedly, he sat down.

Not in defeat - but in exhaustion.

"You think I didn't love her?" he said softly.

Averie blinked. "You had a funny way of showing it."

"I was sixteen when she started to unravel," he said, staring at the far wall. "That's what they called it - 'unraveling.' But she wasn't. She was different. Softer when he was around. Happier. I remember that."

Averie's anger wavered.

"She used to hum when she did the dishes," he continued. "She stopped after he was gone. And I - I just wanted to fix things. I wanted to hold onto what we had left."

"So you helped them hide her," Averie whispered.

"I didn't know the truth until I was older," he admitted. "And by then, I had my own image to protect. My campaign. My marriage. My daughter."

He looked at her now.

"You don't know what it's like to have your future written in stone before you're old enough to spell your last name."

"Yes, I do," Averie said. "That's exactly what you've done to me."

He looked away.

After a long silence, he said, "Your mother begged me to release the tapes."

Averie stiffened. "What?"

"She knew. All of it. But she stayed quiet for my sake. For yours." he said as he looked back at her.

"She didn't do it for me," Averie muttered.

"She did," he said, more quietly. "Because she knew what it would cost you if the family name fell apart."

Averie stepped back, her head spinning.

"Is that why Wes had to leave? Because of the name?" she said angrily

"Because of you," he said. "Because I saw what was happening and I knew you'd follow the same path. Same look in your eyes. Same fire. I couldn't watch it destroy you, too." He stated

Averie let out a breath like a punch. "You don't get to decide what destroys me."

Her father stood again, older somehow.

"No. I don't," he said quietly. "Not anymore."

Another long beat passed. Then he held out the cassette tape.

She hesitated - then took it.

"I don't expect you to forgive me," he said. "But if you're going to burn this legacy down? you should know where the matches are."

He walked to the wall, pressed a hidden panel, and a metal compartment slid open.

Inside: more tapes. Letters. Records.

History.

Truth.

"Take them," he said. "All of it."

Averie didn't speak. She didn't need to.

She started gathering the files in silence - hands steady, eyes sharp.

Forty-two minutes later, the vault door hissed open.

It was the cleaning crew. A shocked intern. They had no idea how it locked. Blamed the system glitch. Security brushed it off.

But something had shifted.

And her father - he let her walk out carrying the truth.

He didn't try to stop her.

That night, Averie sat at her desk, surrounded by stacks of paper, recordings, and ghosts. Her hands trembled, but not from fear.

From power.

Wes was gone. But he had set this in motion.

And soon, everyone would hear the truth.