Chapter 7 - The Ledger's First Reckoning
The air in the small room turned heavy and sweet within ninety seconds.
My eyes began to water, and a dull, throbbing ache flared behind my temples as carbon monoxide began displacing the oxygen in the vault.
I dropped to my knees near the floor, where the air was still relatively clear, holding my phone above my head as the blue progress bar crawled forward.
Uploading 18 of 24... 20 of 24... 22 of 24...
"Come on," I choked out, pressing my forehead against the cold concrete floor. "Come on."
Upload Complete. Messages Sent.
I let out a ragged breath, immediately coughing as the toxic fumes filled my lungs.
I pulled off my denim jacket, wrapped it tightly around my face to filter the air, and crawled toward the back of the vault behind the server rack.
Behind the server frame was an old iron access panel—eighteen inches square—that led to the crawlspace beneath the house's exterior drainage system. My father had installed it twenty years ago to service the underground sump pump.
I grabbed a heavy steel hole-puncher from the desk, wedged it into the rusted latch of the access panel, and hammered it with my palm until the iron latch snapped.
I kicked the panel open.
A rush of cold, wet mud and fresh rain-soaked air hit my face like a bucket of ice water.
I didn't hesitate. I shoved my flashlight through the hole, dragged my body into the dark, narrow dirt pipe, and began crawling on my stomach through six inches of stagnant water.
The pipe was tight—my shoulders scraped against the sharp corrugated steel edges—but I kept pushing forward, driving my boots into the mud, driven by a raw, primal urge to survive.
Ten feet. Twenty feet. Thirty feet.
The pipe dumped out into the drainage ditch fifty yards behind the garage, right beneath the weeping willow tree where I had parked my truck.
I burst out of the ditch into the pouring rain, tumbling onto the muddy grass, gasping for fresh air, my lungs burning like fire as I vomited up toxic water.
I lay in the mud for thirty seconds, the rain washing the chemical film from my eyes and face.
In front of the house, three Sheriff’s department cruisers had pulled up, their red and blue emergency lights flashing across the wet stone facade.
Sheriff Kincaid himself was standing near the front porch, talking animatedly to my father, who was pointing toward the rear basement entrance.
They thought I was still inside that vault, suffocating in the dark.
I scrambled to my feet, staying low in the shadow of the willow tree, unlocked my truck, and climbed into the driver's seat.
I started the engine, threw the truck into reverse, and backed out onto the unpaved lane without turning on my lights.
As I hit the main road, my phone chimed in my lap.
A call from Sarah Jenkins.
I put it on speaker and slammed my foot on the accelerator. "Sarah!"
"Leo! Where are you?!" her voice was frantic over the speaker. "Sheriff’s deputies just arrived at the pediatric floor! They have an emergency order signed by a magistrate, claiming you're armed and dangerous! They’re demanding we release Eli into state custody immediately!"
"Did you get the email?" I screamed over the roar of the engine.
"I got it ten seconds ago," she said, her voice dropping into an awed hush. "Leo... these files... is this real?"
"It’s real," I said. "Send the first three pages directly to Officer Vance’s tablet right now. Tell him to show them to the deputies standing in that hallway."
May you like
"What are you going to do?"
"I’m coming back for my son," I said. "And if Sheriff Kincaid wants to take him... he’s going to have to do it in front of every news camera in this city."
