Chapter 5 - The Expired Lock
“The flash drive,” Hannah said, her voice dropping to a panicked whisper as she looked up at Ethan. “It’s at the Greyhound station downtown. Locker 114.”
Ethan didn't hesitate. He grabbed his wool coat from the back of his chair, sliding his arms into the sleeves with brisk, military efficiency. “When does the rental agreement expire?”
“It already did,” Hannah said, a wave of dizziness washing over her. “Midnight on December 23rd. If the station attendants clear out expired lockers during the holiday audit, that drive goes straight into the industrial incinerator.”
“Move,” Ethan said, grabbing his car keys from the desk. “We take my car.”
“I have Ellie—”
“She stays here. In the executive suite. Marlene is downstairs; I’ll have security lock this floor from the inside. Nobody gets in, and nobody touches her.” Ethan’s voice left no room for argument. It was the tone of a man accustomed to commanding multinational logistics, translated instantly into high-stakes personal survival.
Hannah stared at him for a fraction of a second, weighing the risk of leaving her daughter against the terrifying reality of what Arthur Vance would do if he realized they were closing in on his paper trail.
“If you touch a hair on her head—” Hannah began, her voice trembling with maternal ferocity.
“She’ll be safer here than anywhere else in this city,” Ethan interrupted, his hand resting firmly, reassuringly, on the edge of the stroller handle before he met her eyes. “Go.”
Ten minutes later, Ethan’s black sedan was cutting through the icy, slush-covered streets of downtown Knoxville, weaving past deserted holiday storefronts toward the monolithic brick bus terminal. The sky overhead was a bruised, heavy purple, threatening a fresh round of sleet before noon.
In the passenger seat, Hannah stared out the frosted window, her fingers digging into the fabric of her coat. Every stoplight felt like a deliberate trap. Every passing cruiser looked like a scout for Arthur Vance’s legal team.
“If the locker’s already been cleared,” Hannah said quietly, her voice taut, “what do we do?”
“We go to Arthur’s house,” Ethan replied, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he took a sharp turn onto Depot Avenue.
Hannah turned to look at him, shocked. “Arthur’s house? Are you insane? That’s breaking and entering.”
“It’s not breaking and entering if I own the deed to the property,” Ethan said smoothly, his jaw set in a hard, uncompromising line. “Arthur lives in the estate my grandfather purchased in 1995. His mortgage is paid out of the corporate discretionary fund—a fund that requires my signature to renew every January first.”
The car slammed to a halt in front of the Greyhound terminal. The metal doors were flanked by flickering fluorescent lights and a hand-written sign taped to the glass: CLOSED FOR HOLIDAY MAINTENANCE. STAFF ACCESS ONLY.
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Ethan cut the engine. He turned to Hannah, his eyes dark and resolute in the dim interior light of the dashboard.
“We have twenty minutes before Arthur’s morning board briefing at the corporate office,” Ethan said, pulling the door handle. “Let's go find out what else my father’s lawyer has been hiding in my house.”
