--
[INT. FRED'S PENTHOUSE – EARLY MORNING]
Gray light seeps through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the elegant room.
Harriet blinks awake, the foreign scent of leather and whiskey in the air. Her head feels heavy, her chest aching under the weight of everything she learned last night —
the black file... her parents' secrets... Fred's harsh words...
the way he looked at her — cold, unreadable.
She sits up slowly, hugging her knees to her chest, feeling small in the massive bed.
A soft knock at the door startles her.
FRED (calmly)
"Breakfast is ready."
No apology. No tenderness. Just that cool voice she couldn't read.
Harriet hesitates, then forces herself to get up. She opens the door.
Fred stands there, his white shirt carelessly buttoned, sleeves rolled up. A faint bruise darkens his knuckles — a silent testimony to his inner turmoil.
For a moment, their eyes lock.
Awkward. Silent.
Without another word, Fred turns and walks down the hall.
Harriet, feeling like a ghost, follows him.
---
[INT. KITCHEN – MOMENTS LATER]
Two plates sit untouched on the marble island — toast, scrambled eggs.
Fred drinks his coffee in silence, the tension between them sharp enough to cut.
Harriet barely touches her food. Her appetite is gone.
Finally, the question bursts from her lips:
HARRIET (soft, aching)
"Was everything you said... true?"
Fred sets down his cup with a quiet clink.
FRED (quiet)
"You saw the photos. I don't lie, Harriet."
(pause)
"I don't have the luxury to."
His words settle heavily between them.
Harriet drops her gaze, feeling herself splintering inside.
Before she can ask more —
Her phone buzzes.
An unknown number.
A single text:
> "Truth hurts, doesn't it?
Come find real answers.
Parkside Street. 10 AM.
Alone."
A chill runs down Harriet's spine.
She lifts her eyes — Fred is watching her closely.
FRED (low)
"Who is it?"
Harriet's mind races. She can't let Fred know. Not yet.
HARRIET (lying, too quickly)
"Wrong number."
Fred's sharp gaze lingers on her, but he says nothing.
The air between them grows heavier.
---
[EXT. CITY STREETS – LATER THAT MORNING]
The city is muted under a fine mist of rain.
Harriet pulls her hoodie over her head, clutching her phone, her nerves fraying with each step.
She knows she shouldn't go.
She knows Fred would never allow it.
But the hunger for truth drives her forward.
She reaches Parkside Street —
A deserted, crumbling part of town.
Broken streetlights flicker. A hollow wind howls between abandoned buildings.
A figure waits near a flickering lamppost —
A slim woman in black, hood pulled low.
Selene.
Selene straightens when Harriet approaches.
SELENE (sweetly)
"Harriet, right? You look just like your mother."
Harriet stiffens, her instincts screaming.
HARRIET (guarded)
"Who are you?"
Selene smirks, slipping a gloved hand into her jacket and pulling out a folded, weathered piece of paper.
She holds it loosely, almost teasing.
SELENE (voice low, conspiratorial)
"A friend. One who knew your parents far better than Fred ever did."
Harriet doesn't move.
Selene chuckles softly and steps closer.
SELENE (mocking)
"You think Fred told you everything?
Ask him about the night your parents died.
Ask him where he was."
Harriet's hands tremble slightly.
Selene slips the folded map into the front pocket of Harriet's hoodie.
SELENE (whispering)
"When you want the truth... come find me.
Use the map. But come alone next time."
Before Harriet can react —
Selene vanishes into the foggy street, swallowed by the mist.
Harriet stands frozen, heart pounding, clutching the paper as if it might burn her.
---
[EXT. ABANDONED INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT – NIGHT]
Hours later, Harriet studies the paper in a cheap diner, hidden behind her coffee mug.
The map shows a route — winding alleys, broken landmarks, and a red "X" marked deep inside the industrial district.
Underneath, scribbled in the corner:
> "Where the dead speak."
It feels like a trap.
It probably is.
But Harriet knows she has to go.
Later that night, hood drawn up and adrenaline surging through her veins, Harriet follows the map's twisted path through the rain-slicked streets.
She reaches a deserted warehouse — rusting metal, broken windows.
On the side of the building, scratched into the wall —
A crude red X, just like the map.
Harriet wipes her palms on her jeans, steels herself —
and slips inside.
---
[INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE – CONTINUOUS]
The air inside is thick with dust and old regret.
Broken crates and shards of glass litter the ground.
In the center, under a single swaying lightbulb —
a table piled high with old photographs, newspaper clippings, and yellowed documents.
Harriet edges forward.
Her parents' faces stare back at her from the mess —
young, vibrant, alive.
Her fingers tremble as she picks up a photo:
Her mother, holding baby Harriet.
Her father, tattooed, shaking hands with a stranger.
Other photos show her mother smiling... with another man.
One frame even shows a stolen kiss.
Harriet's breath catches painfully in her throat.
And then, a different photo:
A boy lurking in the background — sharp eyes, sharp smile.
Fred.
So young. Yet somehow... already haunted.
HARRIET (whispering, broken)
"Fred... you were there..."
Suddenly —
A soft noise behind her.
The unmistakable scrape of a shoe against cement.
Harriet spins, heart hammering.
A shadow shifts in the darkness.
Panic lances through her.
Without thinking, Harriet grabs several papers and shoves them into her jacket.
Another noise — closer now.
She doesn't wait to see who it is.
She runs.
---
[EXT. CITY STREETS – LATER]
Harriet ducks into a crowd, gasping for breath, soaked and trembling.
She clutches the papers against her chest like a lifeline.
Slipping into a greasy diner, she slides into a back booth, shoulders hunched.
The rain drums steadily against the window as she peeks outside —
No one.
For now.
She presses her forehead against the cold glass, tears gathering in her eyes.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Fred.
Her parents.
Herself.
Everything she thought she knew... shattered.
Harriet wipes her face roughly, unfolds the stolen papers on the table...
And begins to read.
Because she had to know.
Even if it destroyed her.
---
TO BE CONTINUED…
***