Chapter 67: I Killed Your Parents

Samantha's POV

The apartment felt suffocating in the darkness. Street lights bled through my blinds, casting harsh lines across the hardwood floor. I sat on the edge of my bed in the same clothes I'd worn to headquarters, too drained to bother changing.

Two pieces of paper lay beside me on the rumpled sheets. The photograph Catherine had preserved for twenty-two years showed my parents radiating happiness, Dad's arm wrapped around Mom's shoulders. They looked so young, so hopeful. The second was a photocopy I'd smuggled from the archives when Matthew wasn't looking. Cold bureaucratic text that reduced my parents to personnel entries: David Thompson - Senior Research Scientist, Chemical Engineering. Rachel Thompson - Senior Research Scientist, Biochemical Systems.

Every childhood memory felt contaminated now. Those little treasures they'd brought back from their "expeditions"... the carved elephant from "India," painted pottery from "Peru." Had any of it been real? Or just airport gift shop props to maintain their cover story?

The worst part wasn't the lies themselves. It was realizing how much effort they'd put into lying to me. Creating fake stories, rehearsing fake enthusiasm about imaginary archaeological digs. They'd loved me enough to protect me from the truth but not enough to trust me with it.

And now they were dead because someone thought their secrets were worth killing for.

Three soft knocks interrupted my spiral. Nearly eleven PM. I shoved both documents under my pillow and padded to the front door barefoot.

Matthew stood in the hallway holding two coffee cups, his usual grin replaced by naked concern. "Figured you shouldn't be alone tonight. Brought caffeine to go with all that overthinking."

I accepted the coffee without hiding my red-rimmed eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking care of you, apparently."

We settled on my couch with careful space between us. The coffee was perfect, strong without being bitter. Of course he'd noticed how I liked it.

"Thompson." His voice lacked its usual casual edge. "I know today hit you hard. But we need to face facts."

I stared into my cup, watching steam curl upward. "They weren't archaeologists. My entire childhood was built on lies."

"Maybe they were protecting you from something too dangerous for a kid to handle."

"By lying to me my whole life?"

"By keeping you safe. Chemical weapons development isn't exactly bedtime story material, sweetheart."

The endearment slipped out naturally, and I pretended not to notice the warmth it sent through my chest. "They were murdered. That car accident was staged."

Matthew was quiet for a long moment. "Yeah. I think they were."

Even expecting it, the confirmation hit like a physical blow. "Someone killed them because they knew too much about Parker's real operations."

"Or because they were gonna expose those operations." Matthew set down his coffee and faced me fully. "Samantha, there's something I need to tell you. About my past."

Something in his tone made me go very still. "What kind of something?"

"I wasn't entirely honest about my military background. I didn't serve in regular forces."

"What do you mean?"

"Special work. Government contracts. The kind that requires security clearances and doesn't appear on official records." He met my eyes directly. "The kind that taught me to recognize professional assassination techniques. Organizations like Ghost Squad."

My FBI training kicked in. "Are you saying you worked with Ghost Squad?"

"I worked in the same world. And I know how these people think, how they operate." He stood and walked to my window, peering through the blinds. "If someone really wants to eliminate Parker witnesses, they won't stop with a few retired scientists."

Ice shot through my veins. "You think they'll come after us?"

"I think we've already painted targets on our backs. But don't worry. I've dealt with worse." He turned back, expression grimmer than I'd ever seen. "And I'm not going anywhere."

My phone rang before I could respond. Sarah's name flashed on the screen, and the late hour made my stomach clench.

"Sarah? What's wrong?"

"Sammie!" Her voice was breathless with excitement and terror. "I'm still at headquarters finishing paperwork, and I found something. Something big."

"What kind of something?"

"I was walking past Harrison's office and noticed one of his file cabinets wasn't locked properly. You know how careful he usually is about security." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I looked inside. There are files marked with Parker's name. And Ghost Squad."

My blood turned to ice. Matthew had moved closer, clearly hearing both sides.

"Please tell me you didn't take anything."

"Just a few papers. I was careful not to mess up the order." She sounded proud and terrified. "But I think these documents might be connected to your investigation. Can you and Matthew come down? I don't want to discuss this over the phone."

Matthew was already grabbing his jacket. "We'll be right there."

"Use the side entrance. Less security monitoring at night."

Twenty minutes later we were walking through FBI headquarters' eerily quiet corridors. Emergency lighting cast long shadows, and our footsteps echoed despite attempts to move silently.

Sarah waited by Harrison's office, clutching a manila folder against her chest like armor. Her red curls were disheveled, eyes bright with adrenaline.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she whispered as we approached. "Breaking into our boss's files. My mom would kill me if she knew."

"You're not breaking in," Matthew said with a reassuring grin. "You're conducting an unauthorized internal audit. Totally different."

Despite the circumstances, Sarah's face flushed at his attention. "You're terrible at making people feel better about committing felonies."

"Lucky for you, I'm great at not getting caught."

Sarah handed me the folder with shaking hands. In the dim lighting, we huddled together to examine the contents. The first document made my heart stop.

Target Assessment: David Thompson, Rachel Thompson. Status: Confirmed planning to report Parker project details to federal authorities. Recommendation: Implement immediate "traffic accident" protocol.

My hands trembled so violently I nearly dropped the papers. Matthew steadied me with a gentle touch, his warmth the only thing keeping me anchored.

"Jesus," he breathed.

But Sarah was pointing to something worse. The signature at the bottom. A familiar scrawl I'd seen on dozens of performance evaluations and case assignments.

William Harrison

The folder slipped from my numb fingers, papers scattering across the marble floor like fallen leaves. The sound was impossibly loud in the quiet corridor.

"This can't be real," I whispered, knowing it was. Too many pieces fell into place. Harrison's unusual interest in the Parker case. His subtle warning about not rushing to conclusions. The way he'd appeared in the archives at exactly the wrong moment.

"Sammie?" Sarah's voice was barely audible. "What does this mean?"

The sound of a key in a lock froze all three of us. The office door opened, revealing Harrison silhouetted against warm light from within.

He was fully dressed despite the late hour, silver hair perfectly styled, expression calm. Not surprised to find us there. Not angry. Just resigned.

"I think it's time we had an honest conversation," he said quietly.

Harrison stepped back and gestured for us to enter. The space that had always felt warm and paternal now seemed like a trap. But we had nowhere to run.

I sat across from his desk while Matthew positioned himself near the door and Sarah hugged her arms around her waist. The familiar surroundings felt alien now. The framed commendations, family photos, American flag pin on his lapel. All props in an elaborate performance.

"The documents you found are authentic," Harrison said without preamble, meeting my eyes directly. "I assume you have questions."

My voice came out hoarse. "Those signatures... those orders..."

"Were mine. Yes."

The simple admission hit like a physical blow. Part of me had desperately hoped for some other explanation that would restore the mentor I'd trusted above all others.

"Harrison..." I could barely force the words out. "Did you... were you the one who..."

I couldn't finish, couldn't make myself ask the question that would shatter what remained of my world.

Harrison was quiet for a long moment, his gray eyes reflecting decades of decisions that had brought us to this moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. Almost kind.

"Yes."