Chapter 5 - Locker 42
The problem with Locker 42 was that it was deep inside Sector 4 of the steel mill—the exact sector David had warned was highly toxic and heavily restricted.
"I can't just walk in there," Arthur explained, spreading a blueprint of the mill on the kitchen table. "After David died, Thorne sealed off the old locker rooms in Sector 4 and converted it into a 'hazardous materials storage' area. There are security cameras at every entrance, and biometric locks on the doors."
"Then we need someone who can bypass them," Clara said.
"I know a guy," Martha chimed in from the sink, surprising both of them. Clara and Arthur turned to stare at her.
Martha wiped her hands on a dish towel, her expression steely. "Don't look at me like that. I play bingo every Tuesday with Eleanor Vance. Her son, Jimmy, is the head IT technician at the mill. And Jimmy hates Elias Thorne because Thorne cut the union pensions last year. If we tell Jimmy what we're looking for, he can loop the cameras."
That night, under the cover of darkness, Arthur drove his rusted pickup truck to the back gates of the mill. Clara sat in the passenger seat, dressed in dark clothes, a crowbar resting against her knee.
Martha’s bingo connection had paid off. Jimmy the IT guy had agreed to loop the camera feeds in Sector 4 for exactly fifteen minutes at midnight.
At 11:59 PM, Arthur swiped his manager’s keycard at the rear service entrance. The light blinked green. They were in.
The mill at night was a terrifying place. It was a cavernous cathedral of steel, smelling of sulfur, hot metal, and old grease. The hum of the active furnaces in Sector 1 echoed through the walls, vibrating in Clara’s teeth.
They moved quickly through the shadows, descending a metal staircase into the bowels of the factory. Sector 4 was eerily quiet, the air thick and heavy with an unnatural metallic tang.
"Put this on," Arthur whispered, handing Clara a heavy-duty respirator mask. "David wasn't lying about the radiation."
They reached the doors of the old locker room. The biometric lock was dead—Jimmy had temporarily killed the power to the door. Arthur jammed his crowbar into the seam and pried the heavy metal door open with a grunt of effort.
The locker room was a graveyard of dust and rusted metal. Clara shone her flashlight down the rows.
38... 39... 40... 42.
"Here," Clara breathed.
Locker 42 was dented and covered in a thick layer of grime. Arthur stepped forward, raising the crowbar. He brought it down violently against the cheap padlock. It shattered on the second strike.
Clara pulled the locker open. It was completely empty.
"The floorboards," Arthur reminded her, pointing to the rusted metal grate at the bottom of the locker.
Clara dropped to her knees. She jammed her fingers into the rusted grate and pulled. With a loud screech, the metal panel gave way.
Inside the dark cavity lay a thick, leather-bound ledger wrapped in a plastic bag.
Clara pulled it out, her heart hammering wildly. She opened the bag and flipped open the book. The flashlight beam illuminated pages upon pages of handwritten notes, dates, structural integrity reports, and terrifyingly high radiation readouts. David had documented everything.
"We have it," Clara whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek under the mask. "We have him."
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Suddenly, a heavy alarm siren blared to life overhead, flashing red strobes through the dark locker room.
Jimmy’s fifteen minutes were up. And Thorne’s security had just realized the door was breached.
