Three days after our wedding, my husband kicked my dining table across the room and raised his hand—then he discovered why I had been hiding my real identity.

The attack in France occurred two hours after Charles Vale escaped federal transport.

He had complained of chest pain while being moved between facilities. At the hospital, two men dressed as paramedics overpowered a marshal and removed him through the loading dock.

The escape required medical access, forged credentials, and precise timing.

Charles had not acted alone.

Federal agencies issued international alerts, but by the following morning, his trail disappeared near a private airfield in Quebec.

My mother’s blood type was found at the French safe house. The amount suggested injury, not death. Tire tracks led toward the coast, where security cameras captured a black van entering a private marina.

A yacht departed before authorities arrived.

Its registered owner was a Vale shell company.

“Harrison built contingency plans,” Agent Ortiz said. “Charles is activating them.”

We gathered in the Mercer House command center. Satellite images, financial records, and port movements covered the screens.

Daniel traced a payment from the yacht’s fuel account to a shipping broker in Lisbon.

Tessa discovered that the same broker managed vessels for Vale Strategic Services.

“They may be transferring her at sea,” she said.

“Why keep her alive?” Joanna asked.

“Because she has the notebook,” I said. “Or Charles believes she does.”

My mother had shown the notebook during our secure call. If Charles obtained it, he could destroy the original evidence and argue that all digital copies were fabricated.

Gregory requested another meeting.

This time, Agent Ortiz brought him to a secure interview room at Mercer House under guard.

Evelyn refused to attend.

“I need you to tell me where Charles would take her,” I said.

Gregory looked at the maritime map.

“My family owns an abandoned naval communications station on Calder Island.”

“Where?”

“Off the coast of Nova Scotia. Officially, it was sold twenty years ago. Charles controls it through a trust.”

Daniel searched the records.

The island appeared under a conservation company.

No permanent residents.

One airstrip.

A deep-water dock.

“Why wasn’t this disclosed?” Ortiz demanded.

“My father used it for meetings he didn’t want recorded.”

“Could Charles reach it from Europe?”

“He could transfer to a long-range aircraft in the Azores.”

Ortiz contacted Canadian authorities.

A reconnaissance flight was authorized, but weather over Calder Island had deteriorated. Heavy fog covered the runway, and a storm system was moving north.

“We may not get images for twelve hours,” she said.

“My mother may not have twelve hours.”

Gregory pointed toward the shipping map.

“Charles won’t harm her immediately. He needs the notebook and the encryption sequence.”

“She doesn’t have the sequence.”

“He may not believe that.”

I studied him.

“What aren’t you telling us?”

His eyes lowered.

“My father told Charles that Elizabeth Mercer was the only person besides James who could decode the full ledger.”

“Was that true?”

“I don’t know.”

My mother’s letter contained a phrase I had overlooked:

The stars will lead you home when the board is complete.

Stars.

Starlight House.

Calder Island’s abandoned communications station had once operated under the code name Project Starlight.

The chess sequence from my father’s table ended with an unfinished move.

The final key might be on the island.

Charles was not only taking my mother there to interrogate her.

He intended to finish what Harrison started.

Canadian tactical teams prepared an operation, but fog prevented helicopters from approaching safely. The only available route was by sea, nearly nine hours away.

Mercer Global owned a research vessel in Halifax equipped for severe weather. It could reach Calder in five.

Ortiz objected immediately.

“You are not boarding that vessel.”

“I know the island’s likely security infrastructure. Mercer subsidiaries installed parts of the original communications network.”

“You are the person Charles wants.”

“Which means he may speak to me.”

“That is not an argument for putting yourself in his hands.”

Gregory interrupted.

“I’ll go.”

Everyone looked at him.

Ortiz laughed once.

“You are a federal detainee.”

“I know Charles. I know the station.”

“You also concealed a murder for six years.”

“Yes.”

He turned to me.

“If Charles sees me, he’ll assume I escaped or switched sides again. It could create enough confusion for the team to enter.”

I hated that the plan made sense.

Joanna hated it more.

But the storm left few options.

Under a temporary federal cooperation order, Gregory was transferred to the vessel with armed escorts. I boarded despite repeated objections, wearing a tracking device and protective equipment.

The sea turned violent two hours outside Halifax.

Waves struck the hull like moving walls. Rain erased the horizon. Gregory stood beneath the covered deck, one hand gripping the rail because his injured shoulder remained weak.

“You should be inside,” I said.

“So should you.”

“My mother is on that island.”

“I know.”

He looked toward the black water.

“I used to think courage meant not feeling fear.”

“What do you think now?”

“That it means knowing fear is justified and moving anyway.”

“That sounds like something you memorized in therapy.”

A faint smile appeared.

“I’ve had three sessions.”

“Miraculous progress.”