By morning, Freya was sitting in front of her laptop again with two cups of cold coffee next to her and a dozen browser tabs open.
She barely slept last night. The flash drive files had ignited something in her: the hunger for answers.
Her dining table was cluttered with open files, highlighters, an old-school spiral notebook covered in aggressive scribbles.
She had just opened a financial tracking spreadsheet when her phone buzzed.
MOM: Outside your door. Surprise!
Freya's heart dropped to her knees.
"Crap!" she hissed.
In a blur, she scrambled to sweep the documents together and shoved them into a folder. She stuffed it into her drawer and slammed it shut, then slapped the laptop closed and slid it under the couch.
She had just pulled her blanket over the couch when the doorbell rang.
She opened the door, trying to smile like she hadn't been running an underground investigation all night.
"Hi, Mom."
