"Sam," Stan called, striding through the apartment, "you here?"

"Back here," Sam said, her voice coming from the back room she used as an office, "what's up?"

Stan stopped leaning against the doorway, "I think I found them."

"Who?" Sam spun on the office chair.

"Cherry's parents," Stan said, "a friend of mine who worked this case with me years ago looked through some of the information we have and ..."

"What?" Sam pushed up from the chair, "that information is classified...you had no right to do what you did."

"Yeah, he said you'd say that," Stan nodded, pushing away from the doorframe and placing his hands on his hips. "He also said he has a higher security clearance than you will ever have."

Sam narrowed her eyes at him, "Who is he, and who does he work for?"

"He works for a government department I've never heard of," Stan said, waving his hand in the air, "it got an acronym a mile long. He's also asked me to keep his identity secret."

"Right, am I going to meet this friend of yours?" Sam asked, crossing her arms over her chest, "soon?"

"Probably," Stan mused, "but he would prefer you didn't."

"I'm sure," Sam muttered, sitting once more, "where did he find them?"

"The mountains," Stan said, easing into an office chair next to Sam, "there seems to be some compound fortified by a small army for security."

"Does he have coordinates?" Sam asked, "oh, hold on ... my handler just emailed me."

"Here are the coordinates," Stan said, sliding a piece of paper toward Sam as she read the email, "he wrote them down himself."

Stan watched Sam read the email and glance at the coordinates before frowning and looking at him.

"You friend wouldn't perhaps be named Jeff Roberts?" Sam asked.

Surprise flickered over his expression, "Yes, you know him?"

Sam smiled, turning the laptop toward him, "See for yourself."

Stan leaned forward, reading the email. It told of his visit, the subject discussed and that the coordinates would be coming to Sam via himself.

"Well, I'll be ..." he muttered, "your handler is my friend ... small world."

Sam typed the coordinates in and waited. She glanced at him shaking her head, "You're right about the acronym."

"It's a mile long," he nodded, "when did you start working for them?"

"A few years ago," Sam said, leaning on the desk, "I wanted something that kept me in one place for longer than a few months."

"I can understand that," Stan said, nodding toward the laptop as it dinged, "I think the location has been found."

Stan watched her type on the keys, taking her in. Shoulder-length dark brown hair that never seemed to be out of place. Deep brown eyes that could smile at you one minute and deliver the iciest glare the next. She was neither short nor tall and could easily be overlooked in a crowd as non-descript and blended in wherever she went.

"Are your eye and hair colour natural?" he asked, watching her reaction.

"What kind of a question is that?" she frowned at him, "what do you think I do, change them out every time I walk out the door?"

"One never knows," Stan grinned at her outrage, "if you work for Jeff, I'm sure there are measures you need to take."

"Jeff and I have different views on personal security measures, and we do what is necessary for ourselves," Sam said, "each person to their own."

"Fair enough," Stan said, nodding, "what did you find?"

"This compound falls under a company we've been investigating," Sam said, "it's the same company Cherry's apartment building is owned by ... and the coffee shop."

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"This is getting interesting," Stan muttered, leaning his elbow on his knees. "When we started investigating the deaths years ago ..." he looked at the company names on the laptop screen. "That was the same company that headed us off with the same line we got at the coffee shop."

"How are they all linked in with my best friend?" Sam sighed, rubbing her hands over her face.

"How long have you known Cherry?" Stan asked.

"We met at the age of thirteen," Sam smiled softly, "our birthdays are exactly a month apart, and we were born in the same year."

"Huh," Stan nodded, "makes sense you would have become good friends."

"Oh, at first we didn't," Sam said, "everything was a competition until my parents went away for my birthday, and Cherry's parents couldn't celebrate hers. When I told my mom, she insisted I invite Cherry to come away with us as part of the celebration."

"Wow," Stan said, "that is really generous."

"That was my parents," Sam smiled as her mind wandered and her eyes seemed to be seeing another time and life, "both were the most giving, warm, loving people I ever knew."

"You speak of them in the past tense," Stan said, "are they dead?"

Sam nodded, sadness filling her expression, "Both died after being shot by a burglar."

"You saw it," Stan said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I did," Sam said, "and I killed him with his own gun."

"How old were you?" Stan asked, frowning.

"Seventeen," Sam whispered, "I was too old to be put into foster care and too young to be on my own ... legally."

"What happened?" Stan asked, remaining silent as Sam leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression clouding her eyes.

"My father's colleague approached me at the funeral," she whispered, "told me I had other options other than the state. A programme for gifted teens who had no support or family."

"Espionage?" Stan asked.

"When I joined, it didn't seem like it," Sam said, "I still went to school. I had friends visiting at the house my parents and I lived together, had a full social calendar and then ... graduated from high school."

"Let me guess," Stan said, "they moved you to a facility for training, and you lost contact with your friends. A couple or a company maintaining your house, which you never visit anymore. When you went to college, they directed which one would suit you better than the one you wanted to go to. They dictated the subjects you studied, the work you took, the people you saw until you stood up for yourself and told them to take a hike."

"Sounds like you know how it ended up," Sam said, glancing at the laptop screen, "the question is are you asking me or telling me?"

"I only know because Jeff had a similar experience," Stan said, smiling, "I'm asking because you need to know where you came from and why you're here."

"Sounds like something you should be looking into," Sam said, "I know why I'm here and why I'm doing what I'm doing ... do you?"

"Right down to every choice I ever made," Stan said, meeting her stare. "I know why I decided to become what I did. I know the moment that defined that decision. But with Jeff and yourself ..." he sighed, "I often wonder if you ever had the privilege of knowing your own mind and making your own path."

"Not until we joined the department we currently work for," Sam said. "My defining decision was seeing Cherry manipulated and controlled by the company I'm sure my parents were working against. I'm not sure why my parents were working against this corporation ... I remember hearing a conversation late one night ... they were arguing, which never happened. My father mentioned the name repeatedly as though trying to convince my mother of something. It was five days later that they died."

"Was your house automated?" Stan asked.

"I don't remember," Sam said, "why?"

"Cherry's parents lived in an automated house," Stan said, "so did Cherry."

"Who holds the patents for automation?" Sam asked.

Stan pointed at the screen, "The same people who own that compound."

"How do you know?" Sam asked.

"Years of investigation," Stan said, "Jeff and I never stopped looking into the deaths of Cherry and her parents. We didn't believe it was an accident ... and we were right. The only part we didn't expect was a coverup."

"Do you think their supposed deaths and my parent's murders are connected?" Sam asked.

"They could be ..." Stan said, "we will need to accumulate all the evidence and see what comes out in the wash."

"Okay," Sam said, staring at him, "but you believe they are, and the corporation is at the root of everything."

Stan nodded, "Including the hit that happened at the coffee shop."

Sam stared at him, horror in her eyes, "If they called for the hit at the coffee shop, ... they were trying to kill me. Why do they want me dead?"

"Perhaps you know more than you think you do about the night your parents were murdered," Stan shrugged, "now you are home; they don't have total control over Cherry the way they wanted. Maybe you've started the ball rolling by being yourself and expecting everyone else to be themselves."

"Sounds like a lab experiment these people want to run, but I'm messing up the conditions," Sam said, frowning, "but why did they shoot at you?"

"I shot one of the attackers when they had you pinned behind that counter," Stan said, "they automatically returned fire."

"That gave me time to find a weapon and neutralise the other attacker," Sam said, leaning forward, typing quickly and bringing up another document. "Yes, they were brothers ... freelancers for hire. You name it, they did it."

"Who better than to get random people to do your dirty work," Stan said, nodding.

"If the corporation is behind everything," Sam said, looking at Stan, "we're in big trouble and need to work quickly, but more importantly, we need to go dark."

"Print everything and put the protocol in place," Stan said, "I'm in ... whichever way we need to do this."

"Okay," Sam smiled, "let's take these people down."