Chapter 5 - The Intruder in the Hallway
The beam of a flashlight cut across the crack beneath the study door, painting a bright white line against the dark hardwood floor of the hallway.
Footsteps.
Slow, deliberate, and heavy. They weren't the hurried steps of a police officer conducting a routine sweep; they were the stealthy movements of someone trying very hard not to be heard.
My breath caught in my throat. I glanced down at the computer screen. The file transfer for Project Oakridge was sitting at 94%.
Come on, finish. Just five more seconds, I prayed silently, my fingers hovering over the mouse.
The doorknob of the study slowly began to turn.
Click.
The lock held firm because I had remembered to close the door fully behind me, but the metal latch rattled in its housing. Outside in the hallway, a low, muffled curse hissed through the air.
On the screen, the progress bar flashed: Transfer Complete.
I yanked the flash drive out of the USB port just as a heavy shoulder slammed against the exterior of the study door with a sharp, splintering crack. The old wooden frame groaned under the sudden impact.
Panic surged through my veins, but I forced my training from my years working clinic triage to take over—calm under pressure, decisive in crisis. I didn't have time to exit through the front of the house. The study had a secondary architectural feature that Arthur had always bragged about when he bought the house: a set of heavy floor-to-ceiling French windows leading out onto a private second-story balcony overlooking the backyard gardens.
I leapt across the room, unlocked the heavy brass latch of the French doors, and shoved them open just as a second, harder blow shattered the wooden lock of the study door.
"Hey! Stop right there!" a gruff voice roared from inside the room.
I didn't look back. I scrambled out onto the freezing metal balcony, the icy winter wind biting through my coat. Below me was a drop of roughly fifteen feet into a deep snowdrift piled against the patio pavers. It wasn't graceful, and it sure as hell wasn't safe, but it was the only way out.
I swung my legs over the wrought-iron railing, holding the flash drive tightly in my fist, and let go.
Thump.
I hit the snowdrift hard, the cold powder cushioning my landing, though the impact jarred my joints and sent a jolt of pain up my spine. I rolled over, coughing as snow filled my mouth and coat collar, and scrambled to my feet.
Looking up at the balcony, a dark silhouette leaned over the railing, staring down into the darkness.
"Damn it!" the intruder barked, his voice unfamiliar—rough, gravelly, and entirely corporate-sounding, nothing like a local burglar. It was a professional cleaner sent by Marcus Sterling to wipe Arthur’s office clean before the police executed their search warrant in the morning.
I didn't wait to see if he would climb down after me. I sprinted through the deep snow of the backyard, vaulting over the low wooden fence into the neighboring property, and didn't stop running until I reached my car parked three blocks away down a side street.
I threw myself into the driver's seat, locking the doors with shaking hands, and exhaled a ragged, vaporous breath that fogged the windshield.
I pulled the flash drive from my pocket, holding it up in the dim dashboard light. I had Arthur’s digital secrets, his hidden accounts, and whatever Project Oakridge was hiding.
My phone buzzed violently in my coat pocket, breaking the silence of the car. I pulled it out, seeing the caller ID flashing brightly: Mercy General - Pediatric ICU.
May you like
I swiped to answer, my heart instantly dropping into my stomach.
"Clara? Thank God you picked up," the frantic voice of the night charge nurse spilled through the speaker. "You need to get back to the hospital right now. Leo’s room was just breached. He’s gone."
