Chapter 5 - Uncovering the Secret Laboratory
With the flash drive burning a hole in my pocket, I needed to see the laboratory for myself.
The West Science Complex was a massive, modern architectural monstrosity of glass and steel bolted onto the back of the older brick buildings. It was Saturday morning, and the student body was largely nursing hangovers or sleeping in, leaving the building eerily quiet.
I bypassed the main entrance, where security guards sat behind a high mahogany desk, and instead used an exterior maintenance access door around the back—a trick I remembered from my tactical days when scouting secure facilities. The heavy metal door had a faulty latch; a firm yank popped it right open.
I slipped inside into the cool, fluorescent-lit bowels of the building's basement level.
The air down here smelled different—sterilized, metallic, laced with the sharp tang of chemical solvents and industrial cleaning fluids. The directory on the wall indicated that the corporate-sponsored biotech wing—Sterling Labs—occupied the entire sub-basement.
I walked down the quiet hallway, my boots silent on the epoxy-coated floor.
Most of the laboratories were locked behind heavy electronic keycard scanners. But as I approached Lab 104—the main research suite—I noticed the heavy wooden door was cracked open about an inch.
A pale blue light flickered from within, accompanied by the faint hum of a high-speed centrifuge.
I drew my shoulders back, stepped silently up to the door, and pushed it open just enough to peer inside.
The lab was state-of-the-art. Rows of stainless-steel workbenches, expensive analytical balances, and towering cryogenic freezers filled the space. Standing at the central island with his back to me was a young man in an expensive designer sweater, frantically feeding paper documents into a high-powered cross-cut shredder.
Shredding documents on a Saturday morning. Exactly what a guilty man does when he knows the walls are closing in.
I stepped fully into the room, letting the heavy door slam shut behind me with a loud clack.
The man jumped violently, dropping a handful of papers onto the floor as he spun around.
It was Chad Sterling.
He was in his early twenties, with slicked-back blonde hair, sharp, arrogant features, and eyes that currently widened with pure panic.
"Who the hell are you?" Chad demanded, trying to puff out his chest and project false authority, though his voice shook noticeably. "This is a restricted corporate research facility! You're trespassing!"
I didn't answer right away. I walked slowly toward him across the linoleum floor, my eyes locked on his face like a hawk descending on a rabbit.
"You look nervous, Chad," I said, my voice dangerously smooth.
Chad swallowed hard, recognizing the predatory look in my eyes. He backed up against the stainless-steel counter, his hand brushing against a heavy glass beaker. "I don't know who you are, man, but you need to get out of here right now, or I'll call campus security and have you thrown in jail."
"Campus security?" I smiled grimly, closing the distance until I was standing just two feet away from him. "You mean Officer Miller? The guy who conveniently lost eighteen minutes of security camera footage from the quad?"
Chad’s face lost every trace of color. The arrogant facade instantly evaporated, replaced by cold realization.
"You're... you're Lily Mercer's dad," Chad whispered.
"Bingo," I said.
Before Chad could react, I lunged forward, grabbing him by the expensive collar of his sweater and slamming him backward against the stainless-steel lab bench with enough force to rattle every beaker in the room.
"You beat my nineteen-year-old daughter into a coma," I roared, my grip tightening until he gasped for air. "You fractured her skull in six places because she caught you running illegal drug trials in a university basement!"
"I didn't... I swear to God I didn't touch her!" Chad choked out, clawing frantically at my hands, tears springing to his eyes. "It was... it was someone else! I swear!"
"Don't lie to me!" I pressed my forearm against his throat, cutting off his windpipe just enough to make him realize how fragile his pampered life really was. "Who did it, Chad? Who swung the pipe?"
"It was Marcus! Security Supervisor Miller's nephew!" Chad gasped out, his eyes bulging with terror. "He did the dirty work! I just paid him! I swear, I just wanted her quiet, I didn't want to kill her!"
The confession hung in the air, absolute and undeniable.
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I held him there for three seconds longer, letting the sheer weight of his cowardice sink into his bones. Then, with a disgusted shove, I hurled him backward onto the floor, where he scrambled away like a frightened animal.
"Stay right there," I said, pulling my phone from my pocket and tapping record on the video camera. "Say that again for the record, Chad. Let's see how well your billionaire daddy's lawyers spin a murder confession."
