Chapter 3 - Subject Ready for TransferThe phrase followed me everywhere.
Subject ready for transfer.
I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Five months before I left Daniel.
Before the threats.
Before the protective order.
Before anyone claimed I was in danger.
Someone had already created a file about me.
Someone had already classified me as a subject.
The investigation expanded overnight.
Agents from multiple departments arrived on the installation.
They questioned medical personnel.
Security staff.
Administrative employees.
Anyone who had access to my records.
Meanwhile, Daniel remained in custody.
Margaret was separated from him.
For the first time in six years, mother and son couldn't coordinate their stories.
And their stories were beginning to collapse.
Daniel finally admitted the phone belonged to him.
But he insisted he hadn't created the photographs.
He claimed someone had given him the phone three weeks earlier.
“Who?”
He wouldn't say.
Then investigators discovered a hidden application on the device.
It contained encrypted messages.
Most were meaningless strings.
Numbers.
Coordinates.
Initials.
But one message was different.
TRANSFER CARTER BEFORE REVIEW.
Another read:
USE FAMILY ACCESS. NO DIRECT CONTACT.
And another:
MAKE IT LOOK PERSONAL.
My blood ran cold.
They hadn't wanted me dead.
They wanted my disappearance to look like a domestic incident.
The abuse.
The threats.
The break-in.
It had all been useful.
I was supposed to disappear into the chaos.
But why?
Commander Grant gave me the answer later that afternoon.
“Your background investigation,” he said.
“I don't have one.”
“Everyone in your position has one.”
He placed a folder in front of me.
Inside were my employment records.
Financial information.
Addresses.
Travel history.
Medical appointments.
I stared at the pages.
“This information isn't public.”
“No.”
“Then how did they get it?”
“That's what we're investigating.”
I kept turning pages.
Then I noticed something.
A notation on a medical record.
A code.
I didn't recognize it.
“What does this mean?”
Grant went quiet.
“It means someone requested access to your medical file.”
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
That was before the divorce.
Before the separation.
Before Daniel had ever become violent.
“Who requested it?”
He pointed to a signature.
Margaret.
His mother.
I felt like I'd been punched again.
“She accessed my medical records?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
I demanded to see her.
The interview room was colder than I remembered.
Margaret entered in handcuffs.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked:
“Why did you access my medical records?”
She looked down.
“I was checking something.”
“What?”
She didn't answer.
“You watched Daniel attack me.”
Silence.
“You helped him get onto the base.”
Silence.
“You planted nothing. You did plenty.”
Her eyes lifted.
“You think I wanted this?”
“You enabled it.”
Her face crumpled.
Then she whispered:
“I tried to stop them.”
I froze.
“Who?”
Margaret looked toward the ceiling.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she leaned closer.
“Five months ago, someone asked me to flag your medical records.”
“Who?”
“I don't know their name.”
“Then how did you know what to do?”
“They had authorization.”
“From whom?”
She shook her head.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because if I tell you, they'll kill me.”
I stared at her.
“You helped them.”
“I know.”
“You brought Daniel to my home.”
“I know.”
“And you watched.”
Tears formed in her eyes.
“I thought they were going to frighten you.”
My anger burned.
“You call that frightening me?”
“No.”
She looked broken.
“I was told Daniel would never touch you.”
“Then why did he?”
“Because he found out what was on the phone.”
“What was on it?”
Margaret's face went pale.
“He knew about the women.”
“What women?”
“The ones they were tracking.”
I leaned forward.
“Why?”
She whispered:
“Because they weren't being tracked.”
I waited.
“They were being selected.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“For what?”
Margaret started crying.
“I don't know.”
“Tell me.”
“I don't know.”
Then the door opened.
An investigator stepped inside.
“Ma'am, we need you to come with us.”
I stood.
“What happened?”
He held up a tablet.
“We found the encryption key.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What's on the drive?”
He looked at me.
“Everything.”
That night, investigators decrypted the folder.
It contained hundreds of files.
Navy personnel.
Civilian contractors.
Medical staff.
Photographs.
Employment records.
Psychological assessments.
And one category repeated across every file.
COMPATIBILITY SCORE.
I stared at the screen.
“What does that mean?”
No one answered.
Then the system opened my profile.
A red bar appeared.
OLIVIA CARTER
STATUS: HIGH COMPATIBILITY
My throat tightened.
Beneath it was a second line.
TRANSFER WINDOW: 72 HOURS
Commander Grant stepped backward.
“That's today's date.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
He pointed to the bottom of the screen.
The transfer had been scheduled for three days from now.
Someone had planned to move me somewhere.
But not through normal military channels.
The location field was classified.
Then a final message appeared.
IF SUBJECT SURVIVES INCIDENT, INITIATE PHASE TWO.
Nobody moved.
I stared at the words.
“Phase two.”
“What is phase two?”
Before anyone could answer, every monitor in the room went black.
Then one screen flickered back on.
May you like
A single sentence appeared.
WE KNOW YOU FOUND IT.
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