xxxvii. MEET THE FATHER

Sergeant Antony glanced at Ace like the terminator. When he finally looks away, he turns back to me, and his demeanor does a complete 180. "Alright Octavia," Sergeant Antony smiles. "Why did you come back all of a sudden?"

"I'm doing an investigative piece for class," I start. "It's about public funding, so could you give me a tour of the precinct?"

"I'd be happy to." Sergeant Antony affirms.

"I mean everything too. Everything that this precinct spends money on will help me write my report."

Ace wandered off while we were talking, and when we were about to go on the tour, Ace was distracting others. His presence has attracted a group of both male and female officers—officers who were now not working.

The Sergeant leads me over to them. In the presence of their superior, everyone stiffles their laughter. "Detectives, what's so interesting that we're just standing around?" He then goes on to give Ace a disapproving look.

"Ace was just showing us a trick about how to reload with only one hand," an officer stammers after a moment's silence. Ace offers a sheepish grin.

Sergeant Antony raises an eyebrow in Ace's direction. "And how do you know this?"

Ace runs a hand through his hair. "My old man taught me."

Well technically, Ace wasn't wrong. His father did train him. Ace just neglected the part about his father being an international con-man.

"Just don't mess around unsupervised with these weapons. I don't care if you hurt yourself but you could hurt Octavia."

"Not at all sir. My father taught me well."

Back the truck up—I've gotten shot because of you.

"You could never be too careful, cityboy."

Ace gives me a frazzled look when the Sergeant isn't looking. I suppress a laugh. Of course, it's foreign that Ace feels like he isn't well received. I hide a smile; it was almost cute how confused he seemed.

Sergeant Antony raises an annoyed eyebrow. "Son, let's have a chat in my office."

Well wankers. This is about to suck more than a 24 hour Kidz Bop solo narrating the 2016 US elections in a dumpster fire run by clowns.

Sergeant Antony leads Ace into his office. I've chatted for about half an hour with the other officers. When Ace comes out, he looks absolutely terrified. I'm not even going to ask.

Antony then parades us around the station, showing us all the rooms and technology. I take pictures of everything in case I need to look back. He even offers us the detailed expense reports. However, our search turned up fruitless. Nothing was even remotely high-tech within a mile radius.

"Could I talk to you in your office?" I state. Sergeant Antony dismisses Ace with the wave of the hand.

I close the door and enter his office. He gestures to a seat in front of his desk. His office is neat and organized, although the furniture itself was run down. Stacks of paper were sprawled out on his desk. The computer monitor he turns off is hideously outdated; work was seriously hindered by the lack of infrastructure.

This didn't add up. How come the complex code on the USB led me to this technological wasteland? How did this piece fit in the overall puzzle?

"Sergeant Antony, do the numbers 009 mean anything to you?" I waver.

"Never heard of it. Sorry Octavia. I doubt anyone else here has either," he sighs. "The only person who's worked here longer than me is your father."

My heart suddenly aches. The entire day that I've been here I've tried to quell all mention of my father. "Was," I state drly. "But he passed away."

Sergeant Antony slides his rolly chair to the cabinet behind him. After a brief stint of digging, he pulls out an archaic hard drive and hands it to me. It was an old 2002 PC hard drive. I'd know because this was the first computer that my father taught me to program on. However, the weight did seem slightly heavier than I remembered. Along with the PC drive he hands me a couple others from later versions.

"This is your father's hard drive and records of the station since the beginning. I'm too old to understand these electronics, but maybe you could comb through there and in his files for anything to help. Password's his birthday."

"Thanks Antony." An unwittingly small grin passes on my face. Even though my father didn't know much about technology, hence using a simple birthday as a password, he knew the importance of teaching me the basics.

"I would have turned it into the city, though your father seemed pretty hellbent on keeping it private when he was on the force."

"Seriously," I give a bittersweet smile. "This means a lot."

"Anything for David's daughter. He was a hero, Octavia, he really was." Antony turns away from me as he says this.

~

I spent hours filtering through the hard drives given to me by Antony. However, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary—just expenses and recordkeeping. I run a frustrated hand through my hair. The only thing left was my father's old hard drive.

There were no places in town where I could find a 2002 PC except for at my childhood home. As Ace pulled the motorcycle into the driveway, I could feel my heart trying to leap out of my ribcage. The experience was surreal. Step by step, I was walking into the same two-bedroom home I did some ten years ago.

Except this time, the warm maroon paint began to peel off the wood after years of weathering and lack of maintenance. Stone lined the pathway to the door, which was now covered in overgrown weeds. This was once the epitome of the perfect suburban life.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Ace asks.

"Yes. I think I need to," I state.

He then gets on a knee to pick at the lock with a bobby pin. "If this is what you want."

"Do you have that bobby pin with you at all times?" I question.

"Of course. It's great for breaking and entering as well as making sure your hair looks fabulous."

"101 Beauty Tips with Banana Bread. Tune in Mondays at 7 on E!"

"Well I do have a face that could sell anything," Ace winks.

"You're right. Even herpes," was my blunt reply.

"You know, I don't understand why Sergeant Antony doesn't like me."

I actually laugh aloud. "Why does it matter what he thinks?"

Ace runs a hand through his hair. His eyes flicker from the doorknob to meet my gaze. "Well clearly, Antony matters a lot to you... He's your godfather..." He trails off after that.

I fight back a blush despite the rush of red to my face. After a couple more seconds, Ace is able to break into the house. As soon as I enter, I make a beeline for my dad's office where the computer is, ignoring all the relics of our once idealistic past.

Cruelly ironic was the lack of pictures of our family. Most people had portraits of blissful moments captured on film adorning the house, whereas our halls were never filled with frames, and now filled with age. In the office, the computer sat in dormancy. Dust gathered on my fingertips as I manually switched out the hard drives.

"What's on that computer?" Ace asks.

I racked my brain for any possible lie. "It's... something personal. Could you just give me some privacy for a sec?" Whatever would pop up on the screen, Ace couldn't see it.

He shrugs. "I'll go explore your house. Your parents have a lot of explaining to do for raising such an annoying child."

"You're hilarious. You should quit your current job and host the Daily Show."

"Seriously, you were not born in this town. Your real birthplace is Mistake Island in Jonesport Maine."

I return the faux concern with a middle finger as an appetizer and a dead look as the main course. Ace momentarily left to go be nosier than a divorced Beverly Hills housewife turned socialite named Janice with her two kids obnoxiously named Cadillac and Mercedes.

After he rounds the corner, I type in my father's birthday on the computer, and it flashes open to an old desktop GUI. I scroll through his work files, trying to find anything related to this Agent 009. Nothing shows up. A derisive groan escapes from my lips.

The burner phone Thirteen gave me suddenly vibrates. The softness of the sound belies the true terror of its user. "Haven't spoken in a while Darling," it reads. "Have you figured out the code? I'm getting impatient."

"The CIA's best couldn't hack into it. Give me more time, a couple of days should be all I need," I text back.

"I'm giving you 72 hours. Your time starts now."

Suddenly, the cold clicking of a loaded gun echoes against the wall. Ice fills my veins. The terrifying connection I made in that split second was that the only other person in this house was Ace.

"Octavia Snow—step away from the computer and put your hands up." I obliged, turning to see his golden eyes brimming as the unwavering barrel of the gun pointed in my direction.

His jaw tightened. With a clearly hurt expression, he asks, "are you working with Thirteen? These past few days... is this what you've been hiding? Have you been manipulating the CIA this whole time? Don't lie—not anymore." There's a strain in his voice hidden beneath layers of force.

"A-Ace," I stammer. "Put down the gun. I'll-I'll explain everything to you."

I raise my hands as he says to put him at ease. Despite that, my heart beats loudly against my ribcage, pounding against the caved pressure of my veins. Ace lowers his gun but still eyes me cautiously.

"Start with why the stolen Winged Victory of Samothrace is in your childhood bedroom."

Sophie: Don't hate me for this... Thanks for 500K! 

Octavia: "...vote...holy shit...ThAnKs Sophie for putting me in this situation."