Chapter 9 - The Attorney's Choice
The silence in the storage unit was absolute, broken only by the hum of the overhead fluorescent light.
"If Dad used this archive to keep us safe," I said, stepping closer to the elderly lawyer, "why did he orchestrate this elaborate treasure hunt after his death? Why hand us the keys to a war he spent his whole life avoiding?"
"Because the war is over, Sarah," Lawson said quietly. "The syndicate fragmented years ago. But the political figures whose names appear in these files are running for higher office now. They don't want the files buried anymore—they want them destroyed."
"And Miller?" Eric asked. "Who does Miller work for?"
"Miller works for the state senator whose emails are sitting in that desk drawer," Lawson admitted without hesitation. "Miller was sent to find the decoy box, hoping to neutralize the threat before anyone realized Arthur had built a second, permanent archive."
Mr. Lawson reached into his overcoat pocket and pulled out a manila folder, placing it gently on the metal desk next to the laptop.
"What is that?" I asked.
"An agreement," Lawson said. "If you hand over the flash drive Eric just loaded, and the physical records in these boxes, I can ensure that Senator Vance—and the rest of his associates—will leave you both alone permanently. A quiet settlement. Full immunity from any blowback."
I stared at the folder, then looked at Eric. My brother was holding the flash drive so tightly his knuckles were bloodless.
"And if we don't?" Eric asked, his voice dangerously low.
"Then the people who want these files gone won't negotiate with lawyers anymore," Lawson said, his voice carrying a heavy, sorrowful weight. "They’ll use every legal, financial, and personal tool at their disposal to ensure that Bennett family name is dragged through the mud until nothing is left of your father's memory—or yours."
The choice hung in the damp air between us, stark and unyielding. We could take the easy way out, hand over the drive, and walk away into safe, quiet obscurity just like Dad had done for decades. Or we could keep the archive, step into the light, and risk everything our father had tried to protect.
I looked at the framed photograph of our mother on the desk, then at the rows of boxes containing our father's life work.
"Dad didn't leave this red suit for us to surrender, Eric," I said quietly.
Eric looked down at the flash drive in his hand, a slow, resolute smile breaking through his exhaustion. He slipped the drive into his pocket and turned to face the attorney.
May you like
"Tell the Senator his files aren't for sale," Eric said.
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