Page 54 of Her Forever SEAL

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Sophia was at Lettie's door by seven-fifteen, an hour after Tom's truck had cleared the driveway.

She'd been up since four. The schematics, at least what Angie was calling the schematics, were in a sealed envelope in her bag. First Lydia had worked pulling together seventeen iterations of publicly available helicopter development documents, cross-referencing them against what little Angie had been able to piece together about the actual prototype's known specs.

Rylie had spent those same hours on the dark web calling in favors owed to a woman named Sylvia Hessman who technically didn't exist anymore, finding the right person who could then upgrade, alter and modify the documents so they'd survive scrutiny. She had not explained in detail how that worked. Nobody had asked.

Lydia had the print-outs by five this morning.

And now, here she was, at Lettie’s door.

Sophia rang the bell.

Lettie answered in thirty seconds, already dressed, her eyes showing she hadn't slept either. She looked at Sophia's face, then at the bag in her hand, and stepped back to let her in without a word.

They sat at the kitchen table. Sophia put the envelope between them.

“These are fake,” she said. “I need you to understand that completely. They look real.”

Lettie opened the envelope and spread the pages across the table. “You’re right, they do look real.”

“They'll photograph well. They’ll not hold up to expert analysis, but that analysis takes time. Time we need.” She looked at Lettie steadily. “You’re not handing over anything that puts Tom at risk. You are not handing over anything that compromises the project. What you’re doing is buying us another window.”

Lettie looked down at the papers again.

“How long?”

“We don't know exactly. Long enough.”

“Long enough for what?” Lettie asked again.

Sophia held her gaze. “Long enough.”

Lettie was quiet for a moment. Then she reached out and put her hand flat on the fake schematics, resting her palm there.

“You think you know where she is,” Lettie said.

It wasn't a question.

Sophia didn't answer right away.

“We're working on it,” she said carefully. “Now Lettie, tell me again, exactly how Mary wanted you to hand over the photographs you were going to take.”

Lettie straightened slightly. “She gave me a number. Told me to text the photographs when I had them.”

“But you never had them. Because you couldn't drug Tom.”

“No.” Lettie's voice was flat. “I couldn't do it.”

“So Mary has been waiting. And running out of patience.” Sophia tapped the papers. “Which is exactly why you're not texting these to a number. You're walking into that coffee shop and sitting down across from her. And before she sees a single page, you're going to ask her to prove to you that Bree is alive.”

Lettie went very still.

“Proof of life,” Sophia said. “A photo. A video. Bree holding today's newspaper, saying today's date—whatever Mary can produce. You don't hand over anything until you have something real in return.”

“She'll say no.”

“She might push back. But think about it from Mary's side. She needs what's on your phone. She has a clock running, too. And if you walk out of that coffee shop without delivering, she has to explain to whoever is above her why her asset went sideways.” Sophia held her gaze. “She needs you to cooperate more than you need to give her what she wants. Use that.”