Mystery ~ MV1

003. Meet Melina Vincent

The conference room on the seventh floor of CIA headquarters was technically marked as "Maintenance Planning," but everyone knew it was where the real operations took shape.

The walls were smart glass, currently displaying various profiles and maps, while the large oak table was covered in dossiers and half-empty coffee cups.

"NASCAR?" I raised an eyebrow at Raymond, who had just finished explaining his connection to the racing organization. "That's quite a pivot to Formula One."

"Which is exactly why it works," Luke chimed in from where he was sprawled in one of the ergonomic chairs, his tie loosened after hours of planning. "Everyone expects F1 photographers to come up through European racing circuits. Having an American connection makes you interesting enough to be memorable, but not suspicious enough to raise flags... and no one really cares about nascar across the pond- they won't bother looking into it, unlike if we'd chosen motogp or even Indy."

I nodded, making notes in my notepad because I refused to pick up the tablet Luke set in front of me when he walked in. We'd been at this for hours, crafting my new identity with the precision needed to make it clear cut and bulletproof. Melina Vincent needed to be flawless – not just on paper, but in every detail.

"The NASCAR connection gives you a reason to be learning F1-specific protocols," Raymond added, his massive frame making the chair beneath him look almost delicate. "New photographers always have an adjustment period. It's the perfect cover for asking questions and wandering around."

"And the French background?"

"Gives you a natural in with the European paddock culture being American wouldn't give you." Luke pulled up a diagram of a typical F1 paddock layout on the wall display. "Plus, you already speak French like a native. Might as well use it."

Raymond's phone buzzed, and he checked it with a slight frown. "Files are here." He stood, his chair rolling back silently. "Back in five."

I used his absence to review what we had so far, a migraine was forming like a black hole in my mind- sucking up my energy as my eyes read over the words once, twice, three times.

Melina Vincent, born in Nice but raised partially in the States. Studied photography at École des Beaux-Arts, specialized in motorsports photography after an internship at Le Mans. Five years covering NASCAR before being recruited by Formula One Management for their official photography team.

The background was solid, with just enough real touchpoints to be verifiable.

"Your portfolio's done," Luke announced, swiping some files onto the stupid tablet in front of me. He picked it off the table and practically forced it into my hands. "Made by yours truly, had some help from the tech guys. Everything's been backdated and planted in the right archives. Even has a small Instagram following now, the world finally welcomes you to instagram."

I roll my eyes and adjust the glasses that have fallen down the bridge of my nose. "It welcomes Melina."

I scrolled through the images – racing shots that looked perfectly professional while being just distinct enough to be unique. "These are good. The motion blur on the—"

The door opened, and Raymond returned carrying a stack of files thick enough to kill someone if dropped from height. I counted twenty thick folders before they were placed in front of me with a quick thud.

"Current grid," he announced,"Every driver, their histories, connections, potential vulnerabilities. If any of them are involved with Vega's operation, we'll find it."

I reached for the first file, but Luke's hand shot out to stop me. "Wait. Ground rules. You can't just memorize everything about these guys. You can't be a robot, Syd. A photographer wouldn't know their entire life stories. You need to know enough to be credible, not enough to be suspicious."