At 2:47 a.m., an elementary-school principal told me my eight-year-old daughter had walked barefoot through the dark, covered in scrapes, repeating, “Grandpa hurt me.”

The news that Walter was free sent a jolt of pure terror through me. I didn't return to our house in Oregon. Instead, with Detective Reyes’ help, I moved Lily to a secured residential hotel complex under an assumed name, guarded round-the-clock by off-duty police officers funded through my own savings.

Every shadow seemed to stretch toward us. Every passing car made me jump. Lily hardly spoke, keeping her arms wrapped tightly around her green stuffed dinosaur, holding it close like a lifeline.

Four days after Walter’s release, I received an anonymous package at my medical research clinic in Seattle. It was addressed to me personally, marked URGENT AND CONFIDENTIAL.

Sitting in my locked office at the clinic late at night, my hands trembling, I carefully opened the thick manila envelope. Inside was a flash drive and a handwritten note on plain white paper:

Daniel knew he was in danger. He left a fail-safe in his old workshop office at the family cabin in Blackwood Lake. Walter doesn't know it exists. Find file 'PROJECT SUNRISE'. - A Friend.

I stared at the note. Blackwood Lake. It was a remote family property high up in the Cascade Mountains. Daniel had built a small woodworking shop there years ago. Walter had tried to sell the property after Daniel’s death, but because it was co-titled under my name, he hadn't been able to touch it.

I immediately called Detective Reyes.

“Emma, it could be a trap,” Reyes cautioned over the encrypted line. “Walter knows you have legal access to that property. If he sent that note to draw you out—”

“Walter didn’t send this,” I interrupted, looking closely at the handwriting. “I know this writing. It’s Eleanor’s—Walter’s former executive assistant. She worked for him for twenty years before she suddenly resigned right after Daniel died.”

“If Eleanor is reaching out, she’s taking a massive risk,” Reyes said thoughtfully. “All right. I won’t let you go alone. I’m off shift in an hour. I’ll drive up there with you, along with a partner. We’ll secure the site together.”

At 5:00 a.m. the following morning, under a heavy veil of mountain fog, Detective Reyes, Officer Perez, and I arrived at the cabin in Blackwood Lake. The pine trees towered over the dark, rustic building like giant sentinels. Cold, crisp mountain air filled my lungs as I stepped out of the unmarked police SUV.

We approached the small wooden workshop behind the main cabin. The lock was rusted, untouched for two years. I pulled out Daniel’s old keychain—the one I had kept in my memory box since his funeral—and inserted the brass key into the padlock.

With a loud click, the lock gave way.

Inside, the air smelled of cedar, sawdust, and old motor oil. Everything remained exactly as Daniel had left it: tools hung neatly on pegboards, a half-finished wooden rocking chair sitting on the workbench, and a thick layer of dust covering every surface.

“Search for anything that looks hidden,” Reyes instructed, shining a heavy-duty tactical flashlight around the room.

I walked over to Daniel’s old desk in the corner. I ran my fingers over the dusty wood, memories of him laughing while crafting toys for Lily washing over me. I remembered how he loved double-bottom drawers.

I reached underneath the desk’s bottom shelf, feeling around the frame until my fingers brushed against a small wooden latch. I pulled it.

A false bottom panel popped loose.

Inside was a dust-covered hard drive wrapped in anti-static plastic, alongside a red ledger book filled with Daniel’s neat handwriting.

“I found it,” I whispered.

Suddenly, the harsh sound of gravel crunching outside cut through the quiet morning.

Reyes immediately drew his sidearm. “Stay down, Emma!”

Through the cracked window of the workshop, headlights sliced through the fog. A dark SUV had pulled up right behind our vehicle, blocking the narrow driveway.