Chapter 8: The Tower After Dark
The towering glass headquarters of Leo’s enterprise loomed against the night sky like a monolith of dark crystal. Streetlights flickered along the rain-slicked pavement, casting distorted reflections across the polished granite facade of the main entrance. Inside the cavernous lobby, the security desk was staffed by a single guard nodding off to the low murmur of a late-night radio broadcast. We didn't use the front doors. Instead, Arthur parked the town car two blocks away, and we approached through the shadows of the alleyway leading directly to the service elevators.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a sharp, rhythmic drumbeat that threatened to drown out the city sounds around me. I pulled the hood of my dark coat low over my forehead, keeping my stride measured and calm. Beside me, Arthur moved with silent, deliberate grace, blending seamlessly into the architectural shadows. We slipped through the heavy steel service door just as the automatic timer clicked, the latch sealing shut behind us with a heavy, final thud.
The air in the basement corridors smelled of damp concrete, ozone, and old paper. Fluorescent tubes overhead buzzed with a faint, irritating electrical whine, casting sickly yellow light down the long, empty hallways. We descended the concrete stairwell toward the sub-level archives, our boots making almost no sound against the industrial flooring.
Ahead of us stood the security turnstile guarding the entrance to the restricted record vaults. A red LED light blinked steadily on the console box. I swallowed hard, wiped my palms dry against my trousers, and pulled the scuffed plastic employee badge from my pocket. If the system had been updated, the red light would flash green and trigger a silent alarm.
I slid the card through the rusty mechanical slot.
For two agonizing seconds, nothing happened. The LED light remained solid red, and the turnstile arm stayed locked in place. My breath hitched in my throat, and I glanced sideways at Arthur, who immediately stepped half a step forward, his hand hovering near his jacket pocket.
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Then, with a sharp mechanical click, the red light flickered green. The internal database, bloated and neglected by corporate bureaucracy, had failed to purge my credentials in time.
I didn't hesitate. I pressed my weight against the turnstile arm, slipping through into the darkened corridor beyond. Arthur followed swiftly, catching the metal bar before it clicked shut behind him. We were inside the restricted archives, and the digital clock on the wall showed we had exactly twenty-two minutes before the midnight patrol sweep.
