Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Machine
I slammed my hand onto the keyboard, desperately trying to cancel the remote wipe.
"What's happening?" Carol asked, leaning forward on her crutches.
"Someone is hacking into the laptop and deleting the files," I shouted.
I grabbed the flash drive and yanked it out of the port, hoping to sever the connection.
The screen flickered, showing a loading bar stalled at forty percent.
"Did we save it in time?" Carol asked, her voice tight with panic.
I plugged the drive back in, holding my breath as the folder slowly reappeared.
Most of the blueprints were gone, corrupted into useless strings of random code.
But the offshore bank statements—the undeniable proof of Bradley's embezzlement—were still there.
"We have the money trail," I said, feeling a small surge of triumph.
"That is enough to put him in federal prison for the rest of his life."
Carol let out a massive sigh of relief and sank back into the sofa cushions.
"We have to take this to the police," she said.
I shook my head, my mind racing through the grim realities of our situation.
"Bradley practically owns the local police chief," I reminded her.
"He sponsored the mayor's campaign with that dirty money."
We needed someone outside of this town, someone who could not be bought or intimidated by my son's wealth.
"I have a friend," I said slowly, pulling my ancient cell phone out of my pocket.
"A structural inspector at the state level who owes me a favor from ten years ago."
I dialed the number, praying that old Marcus was still sitting at his messy desk in the capital.
The phone rang three times before a gruff, familiar voice answered.
"Arthur? Is that really you, you old stubborn mule?" Marcus boomed.
"I need your help, Marcus," I said, keeping my voice low and urgent.
I quickly explained the bridge, the forged steel certificates, and the flash drive in my hand.
The line went dead silent for a long, uncomfortable moment.
"Arthur, you are playing a very dangerous game," Marcus finally whispered.
"Your son is currently the frontrunner for the statewide infrastructure contract."
"That is exactly why he has to be stopped," I insisted.
Marcus sighed heavily.
"Bring the drive to my office tomorrow morning at nine, and I will get it straight to the FBI."
I thanked him and hung up, feeling a spark of genuine hope for the first time since Helen's funeral.
"We are leaving at dawn," I told Carol.
I spent the next hour packing her things, moving efficiently through the cabin like a soldier preparing for deployment.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the cabin was swallowed by deep, coastal shadows.
I walked to the kitchen window to pull the blinds down for the night.
Through the glass, I saw a black SUV parked silently at the end of the sandy driveway.
Its headlights were off, but the faint red glow of a cigarette illuminated the driver's seat.
I backed away from the window, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Carol," I whispered, reaching into my tool bag and pulling out a heavy steel wrench.
"Get your coat, we are leaving right now."
May you like
I grabbed the laptop and the keys, leading her toward the back door of the cabin.
But as I reached out to turn the deadbolt, the doorknob slowly clicked and began to turn on its own.
