Chapter 6 - The Daughter Who Wasn't Supposed to ExistSarah and Hank reached the Vale Foundation after midnight.
Rain hammered the marble steps.
The building looked almost empty.
Sarah studied the windows.
“This place is too quiet.”
Hank nodded.
“That's because everyone inside already knows we're coming.”
They entered through the rear service door.
The basement was spotless.
Too spotless.
No storage boxes.
No maintenance equipment.
Only a long corridor lined with portraits of Robert Vale shaking hands with presidents, senators and foreign businessmen.
Sarah stopped at one.
A photograph dated twenty-five years earlier.
Robert Vale.
Frank Mitchell.
And Sarah.
As a child.
Sarah stared.
“I wasn't at this event.”
Hank looked at the picture.
“You were.”
“No.”
“You were eight.”
Sarah shook her head.
“I don't remember.”
“That’s the point.”
At the end of the corridor stood a sealed door.
Hank found the second keyhole.
Sarah inserted Cutter's key.
The door opened.
Inside was an elevator.
It descended.
B1.
B2.
B3.
B4.
Then no number.
The lights dimmed.
Sarah looked at Hank.
“How far down?”
“Far enough.”
The elevator stopped.
They stepped into a narrow underground facility.
Servers hummed.
Hundreds of files filled steel cabinets.
On the nearest wall was a giant photograph.
Sarah.
At age eight.
Another at twelve.
Another at sixteen.
Another at eighteen.
Then twenty-one.
Then twenty-five.
Every year.
Someone had watched her entire life.
Hank whispered:
“They never stopped.”
Sarah touched the photographs.
“Why?”
A voice answered from the darkness.
“Because you were never supposed to survive.”
Sarah turned.
Robert Vale stepped into the light.
No blood.
No wound.
Perfectly dressed.
The gunshot in the park had been nothing but theater.
Vale looked at Hank.
“You lasted longer than I expected.”
Hank raised his weapon.
Vale smiled.
“If you shoot me, you will never meet Frank.”
Sarah stepped between them.
“Where is my father?”
Vale studied her.
“Still asking the wrong question.”
“What question should I ask?”
“Why did Frank create you?”
Sarah froze.
Hank lowered his gun.
Vale continued.
“Your father wasn't merely an accountant.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Vale stepped closer.
“You don't.”
He opened a file.
Inside was Sarah's birth certificate.
Another document sat beneath it.
Then another.
Sarah looked at the dates.
A birth record.
A medical record.
A sealed adoption file.
She looked up.
“This says I was born two years before I was born.”
Vale nodded.
“Exactly.”
Sarah's hands trembled.
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone built your identity.”
Hank stared at Vale.
“Don't.”
Vale ignored him.
“Your real name isn't Sarah Mitchell.”
Sarah took a step backward.
“My mother was Elizabeth Mitchell.”
“Yes.”
“My father was Frank Mitchell.”
“Yes.”
“Then what am I?”
Vale's expression changed.
“You are the reason Frank started the war.”
Sarah looked at the photographs.
At the files.
At the hidden facility beneath the charity foundation.
“You're lying.”
Vale sighed.
“I wish I were.”
He placed one final document on the table.
Sarah read the heading.
PROJECT SAINT.
Beneath it was her photograph.
Then a line.
SUBJECT: SARAH M.
STATUS: SUCCESSFUL TRANSFER
PURPOSE: ARCHIVE CUSTODIAN
Sarah looked at Hank.
“What is an archive custodian?”
He said nothing.
Vale answered.
“Someone whose memory was altered.”
Sarah felt suddenly dizzy.
“What?”
“Your father knew they would come for his records.”
Vale stepped closer.
“So he hid the second archive in the one place no one would search.”
Sarah whispered:
“Where?”
Vale looked directly into her eyes.
“You.”
Silence.
Hank's face collapsed.
Vale smiled.
“The archive was never a room.”
Sarah shook her head.
“No.”
“It was placed inside your memories.”
Sarah stumbled backward.
Her head suddenly flashed with images.
A red door.
A basement.
A woman screaming.
Frank holding her shoulders.
A syringe.
A man in a white coat.
And Robert Vale standing behind glass.
Sarah grabbed her head.
“What did you do to me?”
Vale whispered:
“Nothing.”
“Then who?”
A voice came from behind him.
“Me.”
Sarah looked up.
A woman stepped from the shadows.
Elizabeth Mitchell.
Her mother.
Alive.
May you like
And holding a gun.
THE SECOND ARCHIVE
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