Chapter 3 - The Weight of the Law
I answered the phone with trembling hands.
"Reid," I whispered.
"Marissa," he said, his voice softening only a fraction. "I assume you're watching this."
"I am. I... I told her not to go in. I sent her a message. I have the logs."
"It doesn't matter," Reid said. He looked down at Paige, who was now handcuffed and sitting on the floor, her bravado completely evaporated. "She tried to break into a Level-4 SCIF. By law, I have to treat this as an attempted espionage event until cleared by the Department of Justice."
"She’s just... she’s greedy and stupid, Reid. She’s not a spy," I said, though a part of me felt a sick sense of relief that someone was finally holding her accountable.
"Greed and stupidity are the leading causes of security breaches," Reid replied.
Behind him, the officers were bagging the "fake lease" Paige had produced.
It was a laughably bad forgery, something she had probably printed off a template and signed with my name.
"Is the mother involved?" Reid asked, his eyes narrowing.
"She's on the phone right now," I said. "Paige never hung up."
Reid walked over to where Paige’s phone lay on the carpet.
My mother’s voice was still coming through, though it was now hushed and panicked.
"Paige? What’s happening? Why are people shouting? Just tell them Marissa gave you permission! Tell them it’s a family matter!"
Reid picked up the phone.
"Mrs. Keane?" he asked.
"Who is this? Where is my daughter?" my mother demanded, her voice regaining its habitual sharpness.
"This is Deputy U.S. Marshal Reid Langford. Your daughter is currently under arrest for felony breaking and entering, destruction of federal property, and attempted theft of classified materials."
There was a long, stunned silence on the other end.
"Now," Reid continued, "since I can hear you advising her to lie to federal agents, I suggest you find an attorney. We will be tracing this call and your previous communications regarding the 'lockbox' you mentioned."
My mother let out a strangled sound—half-gasp, half-sob—and the line went dead.
She had hung up on her own daughter.
Typical. When the heat got too high, my mother always protected herself first.
Paige looked up, realizing her lifeline had been cut.
"Marissa!" she screamed at the camera. "Help me! Tell them! Tell them it's okay!"
I looked at the screen, at the sister who had stolen my clothes, my money, and my peace of mind for two decades.
I thought about the 3,000 miles between us.
I thought about the life I was building in London, a life where I didn't have to check my bank balance every morning to see if a family member had drained it.
"I can't help you, Paige," I said, knowing the audio would play through the apartment speakers. "I told you not to go in. I warned you. For the first time in your life, you have to face what you’ve done."
The look of pure, unadulterated hatred she threw at the camera was the last thing I saw before Reid reached up and deactivated the residential feed.
The screen went black.
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The silence in my hotel room was deafening.
***
