Chapter 5 - Cornered in the Dark
The heavy double doors swung inward with a metallic pop.
Through the narrow gap between two metal shelving units, I watched the silhouette of Travis Fenwick step into the dim, fluorescent-lit basement room. He was holding his phone in one hand, the screen casting an eerie blue light across his sharp, unforgiving features.
"Security log showed an active terminal session down here," Travis muttered to himself, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Nobody is supposed to be on this floor after ten."
He walked straight toward the corner workstation where I had just finished downloading the files.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird. I gripped the handle of my cleaning cart, my muscles coiled and ready to move, though I knew there was no easy way out of the windowless basement. If he checked the terminal history, he would see the override log. He would know someone had breached his master vault.
Travis stopped in front of the monitor. The screen was dark now, the auto-sleep timer having kicked in the second I ejected the USB drive.
He frowned, tapping the keyboard. Nothing happened.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, leaning over the desk. He pulled out his phone, dialing a number with his thumb. "Marcus? Yeah, it’s me. Check the network firewall on the basement subnet. Someone just pinged the archive server... No, I don't know who. Security cameras should have caught them coming down the service elevator."
As Travis turned his back to scan the rows of shelving, my phone—tucked deep in the pocket of my uniform—suddenly buzzed with a loud, vibrating ringtone.
BZZZZZ!
The sound sliced through the quiet basement like a siren.
Travis froze mid-sentence, dropping his phone to his side as his head snapped around toward the center aisle where I stood hiding in the shadows.
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"Who's there?" Travis demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, commanding register as he started walking slowly down the narrow aisle between the metal shelves, his shadow stretching long and distorted across the concrete floor.
I backed away quietly, my hand brushing against a heavy bucket of industrial cleaning supplies on my cart, knowing that the next few seconds would decide whether I walked out of this building with my children's future—or not at all.
