Chapter 4 - The Ledger in the Walls
The water from the broken pipe slammed into the concrete floor with deafening force, sending up a thick, choking mist that turned the archive room into a grey, watery blur.
Derek cursed loudly as a jet of rusty water hit him square in the face, his gun hand slipping on the slick metal of his weapon. In the split second of disorientation, Ethan slammed the butt of his Beretta against Derek’s temple, sending the bigger man crashing hard into a towering stack of metal filing cabinets. Folders spilled everywhere, cascading like white waves across the flooded floor.
Raymond was already gone, slipping through the side maintenance door that led toward the old boiler tunnels before the water could trap him.
"Marcus! Sal!" Ethan shouted over the roar of the pipe, pressing his comms unit. "Secure the stairwells! They've got people moving toward Level Two!"
"Already on it, Boss," Sal's voice crackled back, punctuated by the sharp, rhythmic pop-pop-pop of a silenced pistol echoing from the stairwell above. "We've got two of Raymond's men trying to force the Level Two fire doors. They've got bolt cutters!"
Ethan didn't wait for further updates. He vaulted over the desk, ignoring the icy water soaking through his trousers, and sprinted for the freight elevator. He punched the override code with a bloody knuckle—Arthur's code, still active in the system—and hauled the heavy metal gate open just as the lift groaned to life.
Three floors up, the pediatric trauma wing was bathed in the red glow of emergency exit lights.
When the elevator doors parted, Ethan stepped out into a hallway that looked like a war zone.
The nurses' station was empty, charts scattered across the floor. Vance was standing at the end of the hall, holding a heavy oxygen cylinder like a club, breathing hard with a cut over his eyebrow.
"Where are they?" Ethan demanded, his boots sliding on the wet linoleum.
"In room 204," Vance panted, pointing a shaking finger down the hall. "The fire doors jammed when the lockdown protocol hit, but someone managed to wedge them open from the inside. A guy with a limp and a ski mask tried to grab the baby."
"Did he get her?"
"No," a small voice answered from the doorway of room 204.
Mia stood there, barefoot, her small fingers wrapped tightly around the wooden frame of the door. She wasn't shaking anymore. In her left hand, she held a heavy metal clipboard covered in medical charts. Behind her, through the crack in the door, Rosie could be heard crying weakly from the hospital cot.
"You stopped him?" Ethan asked, staring at the child in absolute disbelief.
"I hit him with the heavy part," Mia said simply, lifting the clipboard. The metal edge was stained with dark blood. "Mama taught me how to swing a cast-iron skillet when someone breaks a window. This is just like a skillet, only flatter."
Ethan let out a rough, involuntary sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. He crouched down in front of her, ignoring the water dripping from his coat onto the floor.
"You're tougher than half my crew, Mia," he said quietly. "Where did your mother hide the briefcase?"
Mia blinked, her dark eyes searching his face for any sign of deceit. Finding none, she looked down at the floorboards near the corner of the room where an old radiator hissed softly.
"She didn't leave it in the house," Mia whispered. "She put it in the lining of my baby sister's travel bag before we left. She said if Derek ever found us, he'd look everywhere except inside a baby bag because men like Derek think babies are just... useless."
Ethan stood up and walked over to the blue canvas diaper bag resting on the bedside chair. He unzipped the side pocket, sliding his hand deep into the insulated lining.
His fingers brushed against cold leather and stiff, heavy plastic.
He pulled it out: a thick, black leather binder with a brass combination lock, its surface stained with mud and river water. The missing ledger. The document that could bring down half the judicial branch of St. Louis—and put a target on every survivor of the riverfront fire.
Before Ethan could open the clasp, a sharp, metallic click echoed down the hallway behind him.
He turned slowly.
Derek was standing at the end of the corridor, his face bruised and bleeding from the archive room, holding a heavy-caliber pistol pointed directly at Mia’s chest.
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"Hand it over, Ethan," Derek snarled, blood dripping from his chin onto his soaked jacket. "Or the kid takes the first bullet."
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