I drive as far as I can for the next fifteen minutes, then pull into a neighborhood three miles from where the OPIC building is located. All the windows in my dad’s car are tinted except the windshield. I unfold my father’s silver reflector and spread it out above the dash. If someone looks closely in one of the windows, they will see me asleep in the back seat, but hopefully that won’t happen.

I turn my cell phone off at 3:59 a.m.

Tomorrow I am going to break into the OPIC building.

And if my theory is correct, I will find the White Room.

And I will find my mother.

::::

No one saw my dad’s car parked on the side of the street and thought it suspicious enough to peer through the windows. Or if they had, they figured I was an overworked politician trying to catch a couple winks before heading back to the Hill.

I grab a sandwich from the cooler, which is surprisingly still cold, and scarf it down, then I guzzle both bottles of water.

I’m afraid to turn on my cell phone.

I’m sure I have fifty missed calls from Ingrid and my father. Even after reading my note — my telling them not to worry, that I had something personal to take care of, and I would be back in two days — I’m certain they skipped the meeting with the contractor and have been searching for me since.

My feelings of guilt are outweighed by the bubbling, near bursting, need to confront my mother on my own. To show her that even with my one hour, even with the curse she bestowed on me while in her womb, I didn’t need anyone’s help.

I could fight my own fights.

Six minutes later, I take a left at the intersection of S and Manchester, then park the car on the side of the street.

I’m wearing jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, so I’m not exactly easy to spot, but I don’t resemble a cat burglar either.

After a brisk minute walk, I am standing in front of the two-story OPIC building.

There are three small stone steps leading to a wooden door. I try the handle.

Locked.

I walk around to the side of the building and find a glass window. I peek inside. I’d never been inside an investment firm, but the handful of desks and small offices resemble what one might look like. Of course, they would need to keep up appearances. This doesn’t mean there isn’t something sinister hidden a floor below.

I try the window, but it’s locked. I move down twenty feet and try a second window. Again, locked tight.

I look down at my watch.

3:11 a.m.

I run around to the back where there is a second entrance. There is a numerical panel beneath the handle.

I try 1234.