Emma's trembling fingers extracted a Polaroid from her bulletproof Louis Vuitton clutch. Moonlight revealed a gap-toothed girl in Walmart overalls clutching a Barbie. "My legacy," she rasped, Van Cleef necklace catching firelight.
The child's eyes held Appalachian hollers and meth-lab shadows. "Appalachia makes its own rules." Her Texan drawl thickened with memory. "Papa traded me for oxycontin when I turned fourteen."
Night vision revealed her elevated pulse. I maintained tactical silence, counting her blinks - 3.2 seconds, deception indicator.
"Three stillbirths." Her Cartier bracelet clinked against the SCAR-H's ejection port. "Third time...the bastard drowned in his own vomit during labor."
Daisy's infrared beam swept our perimeter.
"County called us cursed." Emma's Oscar-polished veneer cracked. "Took Gracie and hitched to LA in a Peterbilt cab." Her laugh turned bitter. "Strip clubs pay better than Walmart."
The confession unfolded like CIA interrogation transcript. "Met Charles at Spearmint Rhino. Said I had 'the gaze'." Her fingers mimicked a director's frame. "Funded my first indie film - meth whore turned astronaut."
Thermal imaging showed truth patterns. "Where's your patron saint now?"
"Section 32C." She pointed southwest where fuselage shards jutted like broken teeth. "Seatbelt sheared clean during decompression."
Daisy's encrypted comms buzzed.
"Why this?" I pressed. "Why now?"
Her Margiela trench fell open revealing Krause's handprint bruise. "Gracie's in foster care." SIG Sauer's laser dot danced on my carotid. "I survive. She survives. Calculus of war, Lieutenant."
Dawn exposed the trap. Tidal surge had scattered our Samsonite fish prisons. Daisy knelt by a salt-crusted case, tactical knife extracting micro-SD card from dead snapper's gills - Charles' black box recorder blinking with final coordinates.