Page 104 of What Remains

Do you think it’s possible the footage in London is fake? I’m struggling to believe Molly risked going there if she’s somehow really part of all this.

Julian: Looks legit, but I can have another look.

More like a fourth or fifth one. I’m sure you already triple-checked it.

But it doesn’t make sense for that CCTV footage to be real if all these other videos have been bogus, right?

“Who are you texting?” Dad asks.

“Julian. He thinks the Molly footage is real, but I want him to send it to me anyway.”

Dad nods, and I go ahead and send that request to Julian, following it up with another text.

A thought just occurred to me. What if the footage is legit, but the timeline isn’t?

Julian: Possibly. It’d take someone with mad skills to time travel that footage.

I could do it in my sleep.

Julian: Of course you can. I’m talking about good enough for me not to notice on my first 3 examinations of that footage.

Ah, gotcha.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to work together to beat an enemy. We’ll figure this out.

Julian: Agreed. :) Btw, my sister says hi. She’s looking over my shoulder as I type. She wants me to tell you she’s sorry. She feels partially to blame for everything since it was an op to help her that brought down Easton’s bird.

She should NOT feel bad. Someone stole her memories. It’s not remotely her fault. But it looks like someone took advantage of a bad situation, and they used our pain to turn it into their gain. Remind me never to use the “no pain, no gain” expression ever in my life again.

Julian: Roger that.

Side note, that op forced you to reveal yourself. Brought us all together.

Julian: I’d have introduced myself eventually. Looks like I was too late, though.

Too late?

For what?

Julian: Forget I said that. Let’s just focus on the case.

Way to make my stomach drop.

Julian: You get my email with the footage?

I open my email app to check, and it’s there.

Got it. Thanks! We’ll touch base later.

I set aside my mobile, my gaze drifting over to Carter stroking his trimmed beard, eyes lost to the floor. “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

He looks up at me slowly, his forehead tight. “I’m starting to wonder if I’m at the center of this.” He spins his finger like a helo blade. “Everyone involved in this mess is connected to me in one way or another.”

“Zoey. Easton. Nash,” I say as it clicks where he’s going with this. “Even Hollis and you go way back.” Pressure builds in my chest as the truth continues to snowball through my mind. “Then there’s me, obviously.”

“Which means it’s a fairly reasonable assumption to make that whoever’s pulling the strings on this disaster personally knows me.”

“Or, maybe someone you’ve come across before, and they know how you operate,” I correct.