Page 101 of Anchor
“You’re right,” Claire said. “I’m tired of pretending we’re still inside the lines.” She stopped typing. “Ian told Zach Wentworth to bring in Heather?” She didn’t call her Mother.
Kieran stepped back. “Yes.”
Claire’s eyes snapped to his. “You have her in custody?”
“Secured in a quiet place. In-house transport picked her up outside D.C. and flew her into Ann Arbor. She’s being held in an executive-level office. No cameras. No Chase badges. Ian wanted to wait to tell you.”
She set her laptop down slowly. “I want to see her.”
Kieran shifted his weight, uncertain. “Are you sure?”
She looked him in the eye. “I don’t want an apology. I don’t want a witness statement. I want the woman who rewrote my life to say it to my face. And then I want to burn whatever mask she’s still hiding behind.”
Kieran didn’t speak, just nodded once. “I’ll take you.”
Claire grabbed her sweater. “Let’s go.”
EXECUTIVE TOWER – PRIVATE OFFICE – 0647 HOURS
The tunnel was cold that morning. Too clean and too silent. Claire walked it without speaking.
Two maintenance techs crouched near the far wall, bleach and water pooling beneath their gloves, the chemical smell chasing behind them like guilt. Claire’s shoes skimmed the edge of a faint red smear, already pale from scrubbing. Someone had tried to rinse the violence away.
Reid’s blood.
She didn’t stop. She didn’t look directly at it. But her shoulder stiffened, and she felt Kieran’s hand press lightly to the small of her back. A steady, wordless signal:I see it too.He didn’t remove his hand until they stepped into the tower.
The reinforced interrogation suite smelled of filtered air and old electricity. Claire stepped through the threshold first, Kieran right behind her.
Inside, the overhead lights hummed low, washing everything in soft white. Heather Bowman sat with her legs crossed, hair unbothered, and expression composed, a posture carved from stone. She looked like she was waiting for a limo, not a federal indictment.
Zach Wentworth stood at the far end of the table, sleeves taut, tie perfect, his jaw set in a line that suggested he’d been interrogating for hours without pause. He didn’t look at Claire when she entered. Calmly, he said, “She’s been lying in long-form loops. Thought she’d outlast me.”
Heather didn’t glance at him. Her eyes were already on Claire. “Darling,” she said smoothly. “You’ve come.”
Claire didn’t stop walking until she stood at the opposite side of the table. She didn’t sit. She didn’t blink.
“You always did know how to center a room.” Heather folded her hands as if this were tea and not treason.
Claire stared at her, then tilted her head slightly. “What is it this time? Delusion, denial, or are you just too far down the performance hole to know when the curtains have dropped?”
Heather’s smile twitched. “You’re angry.”
“Does that surprise you? Or are you picking an emotion out of a hat?”
Zach stepped back, giving Claire space. Kieran remained by the door, quiet and still but ready. Neither man moved to stop her.
Claire planted her hands on the edge of the table, palms flat. Her voice came low, controlled and terrifyingly calm. “You gave Lucien Vos clearance.”
Heather blinked once. “He came recommended.”
“Cut the plastic,” Claire snapped. “Terry Fields has already flipped. We have his statement. Time-stamped access logs. We know you authorized the suppression protocol under the Shadow Policy clause.”
Heather didn’t flinch. “That clause exists for national security.”
Claire leaned in just slightly. “You used it to disappear six operators. And Reid Hanlon may die because of the fallout. Tell me, did you know he was chosen to suffer?”
Something flickered behind Heather’s eyes. “Collateral damage,” she said, almost gently. “A legacy like yours comes with weight.”
