Morgan stepped out of her car, the gravel crunching under her shoes as she made her way to the front door of her house. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a cool twilight. A slight breeze stirred her hair, but it did little to clear the fog of frustration that clung to her.
As she reached the mailbox, she noticed an envelope nestled inside. Her heart thudded in her chest, adrenaline surging through her veins. She knew it wasn't just another bill or advertisement. This was something else entirely – something that could potentially change everything.
She plucked the envelope from its resting place and examining it closely. It was unmarked, with no return address or postmark. Carefully, she slid her finger beneath the sealed flap, tearing it open with a soft ripping sound.
Inside was a single photograph, old and slightly faded. It depicted a group of stern-faced FBI agents arranged in a neat row, their expressions betraying nothing. Morgan's eyes lingered on each face for a moment before moving on, her mind racing with questions. Who were these people? Why had someone sent her this photo?
A flicker of recognition lit up her eyes as she identified one of the agents – a younger Assistant Director Mueller, his hair still dark and full. And then another face caught her attention, causing her breath to hitch in her throat.
"Is that...?" she whispered, her fingers trembling as they traced the outline of the man who looked so much like her father. But it couldn't be him, could it? He had never mentioned anything about being in the FBI, and she had no reason to doubt his word.
"Damn it," she cursed under her breath, frustration mounting as the questions multiplied. "What the hell is going on?"
Morgan knew that she couldn't let this mysterious photograph distract her from the case at hand. Lives were on the line, and she owed it to the victims – and herself – to see this through. But as she stared at the photo, a dark suspicion began to grow in the pit of her stomach, one that she couldn't shake.
"Who sent you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible as she clutched the photograph to her chest. "And why now?"
Morgan's fingers trembled as she held the worn photograph, her eyes scanning the faces of the young agents standing in formation. Her gaze settled on one man, his stern expression softened by a hint of a smile. Staring back at her, with eyes that mirrored her own, was a man who looked so much like her father that it made her breath catch in her throat. She could hardly believe what she was seeing.
"Is that... Dad?" Morgan muttered, feeling an unsettling mix of anger and confusion washing over her. How could her own father have been involved with the FBI and never tell her? And why would Mueller hide this connection?
Morgan's fingers trembled as she held the photo, her heart pounding in her chest like a jackhammer. She stared at the image, her father's face unmistakable even amongst the row of stern-looking agents. He had always been an enigma to her, but discovering he was an FBI agent felt like a betrayal that cut deeper than any knife.
Is this my life? she wondered, feeling a sudden wave of nausea. A carefully constructed lie?
The silence seemed to close in on her, suffocating her with its emptiness. She flipped the photo over, scanning the faded words written on the back. The message was cryptic, but it promised answers if she dared to seek them out.
Come alone where it all started, the note read. The place of the incident ten years ago.
Morgan pressed her lips together, her mind racing. Ten years ago, she had been framed for murder, and her life had been forever changed. Whoever sent this photo knew about her past, knew her secrets, and wanted her to confront them.
"Who are you?" she murmured, her eyes drawn back to the faces in the photograph. Her father, Mueller...how many others had known the truth and kept it from her?
She paced the room, her thoughts a swirling vortex of anger, confusion, and fear. What would she find at the place where it all began? A trap? A reunion with her long-lost father? Or perhaps the truth that had eluded her for so long?
Determination surged through her veins, pushing aside the doubts and insecurities that threatened to consume her. She slipped the photograph into her jacket pocket, feeling the weight of it against her heart.
With that, Morgan grabbed her keys and strode out of her house, her every step fueled by a desperate need for answers. The shadows of her past loomed large, but she refused to let them define her any longer. It was time to confront the ghosts that haunted her and finally learn the truth about her father, her life, and the lies that had shaped her destiny.
***
Morgan's hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as she barreled down the backroad highway. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of blood orange and deep purple. Her heart hammered against her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she pushed her car to its limits.
A sudden flash of headlights in her rearview mirror caught her attention. Another car was racing after her, closing the distance at a terrifying speed. Panic clawed at the edges of Morgan's mind, but she forced herself to stay focused, her eyes darting between the road ahead and the approaching vehicle.
The car drew closer, its engine roaring like a beast from the depths of hell. Morgan's instincts screamed at her to swerve, to avoid whatever danger was bearing down on her. But she knew she couldn't afford to lose control now, not with so much at stake.
She gritted her teeth, flooring the accelerator, and felt her own car respond with a surge of power. The other vehicle matched her speed, weaving through the darkness mere feet behind her.
"Get off my tail!" Morgan snarled, her gaze flicking to the rearview mirror once more.
The mysterious car seemed to be toying with her, edging ever closer before falling back again. Morgan fought to keep her fear in check, focusing on the road ahead and the secrets that awaited her at her destination.
Morgan's heart raced as she pulled her car over to the side of the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the confrontation to come. As the other car came to a stop behind her, she recognized the familiar shape of Derik's vehicle.
"Derik?" she muttered under her breath, confusion and relief warring for dominance within her. She opened her door, stepping out into the night air. It was cooler now, the sun having dipped below the horizon, leaving only faint traces of color in the sky.
Derik emerged from his own car, looking simultaneously sheepish and determined. He approached Morgan, hands raised to show he meant no harm.
"Cross," he said, his voice strained. "I need to talk to you."
"Talk?" she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You nearly ran me off the road! What the hell were you thinking?"
"I'm sorry," he replied, genuine remorse in his eyes. "But it was me. I sent you those messages."
"Messages?" Memories of the cryptic notes and the unsettling photograph flashed through her mind. The phone call--it really was him. But why? Morgan's head hurt from the confusion of it all. "Why?" she asked. "What are you trying to do?"
"Listen, I know how this looks," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I had a plan, but I changed my mind last minute. I realized I couldn't go through with it, and I had to stop you before you went any further."
"Go through with what, Derik?" Morgan demanded, her voice thick with frustration and hurt. "What could possibly be so important that you'd do all this, mess with me like this?"
"Please, just hear me out," Derik pleaded. "I can explain everything. But not here, not now. We need to get somewhere safe, where we can talk without being overheard."
Morgan hesitated, torn between her curiosity and her desire for answers and the nagging feeling that she couldn't afford to trust anyone — not even her partner.
After all this time--all these mind games--she was done playing around. She didn't even recognize Derik anymore. He was a stranger, and now, he'd gone too far.
Morgan's hand shook as she gripped her gun, pointing it at Derik's chest. His eyes went wide, his hands up. She steadied her voice, trying to maintain an air of authority despite the storm of confusion raging within her. "You have two minutes, Derik. Start talking."
"Alright, alright," he began hurriedly, raising his hands in surrender. "I... I was tasked to lead you into a trap, Morgan. I didn't want to do it, but they had me cornered. They knew things about me, things that would ruin my life if they got out. They said they'd expose everything if I didn't help them take you down."
Morgan's mind reeled as she tried to process his words. Her finger twitched on the trigger, the weight of betrayal heavy in her heart. She focused on the cold metal of the gun, using it as an anchor to keep herself anchored in reality. Of course, she wasn't going to gun down Derik, but if the threat made him finally talk, then so be it.
"Who are 'they,' Derik? Who's been blackmailing you?"
"I don't know," he admitted, his face paling. "I never saw their faces. They contacted me through burner phones, dead drops... always one step ahead of us, always hidden. But they knew about my past mistakes, things I'd done that I thought were buried forever. And they made it clear they'd use those secrets against me if I didn't cooperate."
"Then why change your mind?" Morgan asked, struggling to reconcile this desperate figure with the steadfast partner she'd known for years.
"Because... because I couldn't do it, Morgan. I couldn't betray you like that. Even though I felt trapped, like I had no choice but to obey them, I couldn't bring myself to lead you to them. I don’t know what they were going to do, but—" His voice broke, and for a moment, Morgan saw a glimpse of the man she'd come to trust implicitly. "I would never forgive myself."
Morgan took a deep breath, the air stinging her lungs as she focused on the man she'd once called her partner. "Derik, what are you talking about? What else is there?"
Derik's gaze dropped to the ground, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "When you were in prison, my ex-wife gave birth to a son. I've never been in his life, but these people found out about him. They threatened to kill him if I didn't help them take you down."
The words hit Morgan like a sucker punch to the gut, forcing her to reevaluate everything she thought she knew about Derik. The anguish in his voice was genuine, and she could see that he was caught between wanting to protect his child and his loyalty to her. If Derik really was a father, then she had to understand why he might want to protect his son. But she also knew by now that there were little words Derik could say that would make her trust him.
"You're lying," she said. "You don't have a son."
"I do!" He went to reach into his jacket, and Morgan held her gun firmly on him. "Cross, come on, you know me," he said. "It's my wallet. Can I get it out?"
Reluctantly, Morgan nodded.
Derik took out his wallet and removed a photo, then flashed it to Morgan. It was a picture of an infant, one who had Derik's blue eyes.
"This is him," Derik said. "Cross, I'm telling you the truth."
For once, Morgan believed him. She hated herself for it, but she did.
"Is the photo you sent me real? Was my father really an FBI agent?" Morgan asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Derik hesitated, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "I shouldn't answer that, Morgan. You'll discover your father's secrets in your own time. But I swear to you, I never wanted any of this to happen."
A heavy silence settled between them, filled with the weight of unspoken apologies and years of trust now hanging by a thread. Morgan's thoughts raced as she struggled to process Derik's revelation, the betrayal she felt now tempered by the knowledge that he, too, had been backed into a corner.
Morgan's fingers clenched into fists, her knuckles turning white. The feeling of betrayal still burned like a hot coal in her chest. "Who are these people, Derik? Tell me their names."
Derik shook his head, a mixture of frustration and helplessness etched across his face. "I told you, I don't know all the details, Morgan. They've been very careful to keep their identities hidden."
"Convenient," she snapped, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Look," he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture, "I want to help you, Morgan. I never wanted any of this to happen." He paused for a moment, his jaw clenching as he fought the emotions threatening to spill over. "Let's go somewhere private, and figure out our next move."
Morgan stared at him, struggling to reconcile the man she had trusted for years with the person who now stood before her. As much as she wanted to believe him, as much as she understood his desperation, she couldn't shake the nagging doubt that something else was going on.
"Thanks, but no thanks," she said finally, her voice cold and distant. "I need some time alone right now." She turned away from him, walking back toward her car with determination in every step.
"Please, Morgan," Derik called after her, desperation lacing his voice. "You don't have to do this alone."
"Maybe not," she replied without turning around. "But for now, that's exactly what I'm going to do."
As Morgan slid into the driver's seat, she took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside her. The truth about her father and the looming threat of those hunting her felt like an unbearable weight on her shoulders. But she would face it head-on, just as she had faced everything else in her life.
With a determined twist of the key, Morgan started her car and drove away, leaving Derik standing on the side of the road, his face a study in anguish and regret. For now, she would face this battle alone. But as the miles stretched out before her, she couldn't help but wonder if she was making the right choice.