Chapter 3 - The Underground Truth
The metallic click of the gun echoing up the narrow staircase made my blood run completely and utterly cold.
Ms. Penelope immediately turned off her phone flashlight, plunging us back into the terrifying, absolute darkness.
We pressed our backs tightly against the freezing concrete wall, desperately trying to control our rapid, panicked breathing.
A gruff, unfamiliar voice called out from the darkness below, aggressively demanding to know who was on the stairs.
I recognized the deep voice instantly as Mr. Henderson, my father's fiercely loyal, old private security contractor.
I quickly shouted his name, frantically praying that he had not fully aligned himself with Calvin's hostile corporate takeover.
A bright beam of tactical light suddenly pierced the darkness, shining directly into my completely blinded eyes.
Mr. Henderson lowered his heavy weapon and let out a long, heavy sigh of immense, profound relief.
He explained quietly that my father had hired him secretly to guard this underground evidence bunker with his life.
He safely guided us down the remaining steps into a surprisingly modern, well-lit subterranean server room.
The walls were completely lined with massive metal filing cabinets and several glowing, high-tech computer servers.
Mr. Henderson handed me a thick, black leather ledger resting heavily on a metal folding table.
I opened the ledger and saw decades of meticulous financial records detailing Calvin's massive, unforgivable embezzlement.
Calvin had been slowly draining the company funds and funneling them directly into illegal offshore accounts under Tabitha's name.
My father had known the absolute truth for months but desperately needed time to gather this undeniable, concrete evidence.
Ms. Penelope expertly examined the documents, declaring that this was more than enough to send Calvin to federal prison for life.
She explained that Calvin desperately needed this house because the server room was physically tied to the property's main power grid.
If Calvin successfully demolished the estate, he would completely destroy the only remaining copies of these digital servers.
Suddenly, the bright fluorescent lights in the underground bunker violently flickered and completely died.
The heavy steel door at the top of the stairs slammed shut with a deafening, terrifying crash that shook the walls.
Mr. Henderson rushed frantically to the secondary control panel, desperately flipping several emergency override switches.
He turned to us with a look of pure, unadulterated panic on his usually stoic, hardened face.
He announced that someone had just intentionally cut the main power lines from the outside of the house.
A sinister, loud hissing sound began to echo from the metal ventilation shafts located near the concrete ceiling.
Thick, gray smoke began to pour rapidly and aggressively into the enclosed, airtight underground room.
Calvin had realized we were down here, and he was intentionally flooding the bunker with deadly, toxic carbon monoxide.
I coughed violently as the heavy smoke immediately began to burn my eyes and scorch my throat.
Mr. Henderson desperately tried to pry the ventilation grates open with his combat knife, but they were bolted firmly shut.
We had less than five minutes of breathable oxygen left before the deadly gas consumed us entirely.
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Through the main security intercom, Calvin's distorted, highly mocking voice suddenly crackled to life.
He cheerfully thanked me for finding the evidence for him, darkly promising to bury me right next to my father.
