Chapter 221| Three Properties
Priya’s surveillance teams deployed within the week, far faster than the careful, months-long assessment that had preceded both Gamma-Nine and the mountain facility, and Allen found himself, reviewing the initial satellite imaging alongside his own family, grateful for exactly how much more efficient this process had grown as their combined experience accumulated.
"The domestic properties first," Priya said, spreading three sets of imagery across the meeting table. "One in rural Montana, largely undeveloped terrain similar to Gamma-Nine’s own coastal concealment. The second sits within an industrial district outside Cleveland, which is unusual — our previous facilities all favored isolation."
"An urban facility," Myria said, studying the imagery with sharp, focused attention. "That’s a real departure from the established pattern."
"It is," Priya agreed. "Which either means it serves a different purpose than pure storage or experimentation, or it’s simply the network’s own attempt at further diversification, precisely to avoid the pattern-matching that led us to William’s discovery in the first place."
Allen studied the industrial property’s unremarkable footprint, old instinct sharpening at the unfamiliar variation. "What about the third? The international one?"
"Portugal," Priya said. "Coastal, consistent with the pattern we’ve documented elsewhere. Though I want to note — this one shows far older construction than either domestic property. Preliminary assessment suggests decades of continuous use, possibly longer."
The room settled into weighted silence, and Allen felt old, familiar dread mingling with genuine, mounting curiosity. "Older how?"
"We won’t know precisely without direct access," Priya admitted. "But if this facility predates the others by any real margin, it might hold historical records reaching further back than anything we’ve previously recovered."
They spent the following weeks in careful, coordinated preparation, William’s own continued research work focusing specifically on the international property’s tangled ownership history, while Vivian and Myria divided their attention between the two domestic locations’ distinct tactical demands.
"I found something on the Portugal property," William reported, arriving at one of the family’s now-regular briefings with visible, focused excitement. "Ownership traces through far more shell layers than either domestic site, but the earliest documented transfer dates to the eighteen-nineties."
"That’s remarkably old," Allen said, turning the timeline over with fresh unease.
"It might connect to the eighteen-forties reference Priya found earlier," Myria said slowly, cross-referencing her own extensive notes. "The European correspondence describing a similar cultivation pattern. If this facility’s been operating continuously since then—"
"Then it might hold far more history than any location we’ve found so far," Vivian finished.
Allen felt the investigation’s mounting weight settle into fresh, focused purpose, understanding that whatever this older, international facility eventually revealed might finally offer answers reaching back to the very origins of this ancient, patient conspiracy.
"Which do we prioritize?" he asked.
"All three, carefully," Priya said. "But I want to be honest — command’s particularly interested in Portugal, given its potential historical significance. I expect that operation will receive priority resources once assessment concludes."
"Then we prepare for all three," Myria said firmly, "and trust the assessment to tell us which genuinely needs us first."
Irene, studying the Cleveland property’s unusual, urban footprint, finally spoke, her own restless focus sharpening. "What do we actually know about the industrial district itself?" she asked. "If it’s not isolation they wanted, what were they actually optimizing for?"
"Good question," Priya admitted. "My working theory is proximity to major shipping infrastructure, given William’s own findings about the parallel network’s logistics. But I don’t want to speculate too far ahead of the actual surveillance data."
"Fair," Irene said, though her own considering expression suggested she’d keep turning the puzzle over regardless.
Eldera, who had joined the briefing remotely from her own council obligations, added her own careful observation. "I’ll keep watching for any indication the Emissary’s aware we’ve identified these properties," she said. "If she reacts to our surveillance the way she reacted to your own bloodline’s discovery, that reaction itself might tell us which location actually matters most to her."
"That’s a useful angle," Myria said, already noting it. "Passive confirmation, rather than direct investigation."
Allen nodded, drawing quiet resolve from his family’s steady, coordinated readiness, and felt the investigation’s own patient, expanding scope settle into place alongside everything else this family continued to build — three threads, gathered close together, each one drawing them steadily closer toward whatever truth still waited, somewhere ahead, patiently, for its own proper time to finally surface.
That evening, once the briefing had finally concluded and the wider group had dispersed toward their own ongoing work, Allen found himself alone with Myria, the three properties’ detailed schematics still spread across the table between them.
"Portugal worries me," he admitted. "More than the other two, honestly. I don’t know why exactly. Just a feeling."
"I understand that," Myria said gently. "Age carries its own particular weight. A facility operating continuously since the eighteen-nineties has had far longer to accumulate secrets than anything we’ve encountered so far."
"Do you think it connects directly to her?" Allen asked. "The Emissary. Founded specifically for whatever purpose she’s actually serving?"
"I don’t know yet," Myria admitted. "But I intend to find out, carefully and thoroughly, the same way we’ve approached everything else."
Allen let her steady certainty settle over his own mounting unease, and together they continued reviewing the accumulated documentation late into the evening, one more patient step forward in a search that had already carried them so much further than either of them could have properly imagined at its uncertain, difficult beginning.
He found himself, before finally turning in for the night, sketching a rough timeline of his own across the back page of Myria’s notebook — Gamma-Nine, the mountain facility, William’s parallel network, and now three new properties branching off from it like roots spreading beneath ground nobody had thought to check before. "It keeps growing," he said quietly, more to himself than to her.
"Everything patient does, eventually," Myria said, glancing at the sketch over his shoulder. "The question was never whether it would keep growing. It’s whether we grow fast enough to meet it."
"We will," Allen said, and meant it, closing the notebook gently before finally letting the evening’s accumulated weight carry them both toward whatever rest the night still had left to offer.