Elias gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. He knew what Leo had meant to me.
“If we get that server drive,” I said, “I have hard, physical proof of federal wire fraud and academic tampering committed by Cameron himself. I can put the son in handcuffs right in front of the father.”
Elias didn't argue. He whipped the heavy SUV across the median, tires screeching as we headed back toward Crestview Academy.
We parked in the dense tree line a quarter-mile from the campus. The school was dark, sitting silent against the night sky like a sprawling brick fortress.
“I’m going with you,” Elias said, reaching for his sidearm.
“No. The building has pressure sensors in the main hallways that activate after midnight,” I said, pulling my heavy ring of master janitor keys from my apron pocket. “I know the blind spots. I know exactly which utility corridors to take. If you walk in there, your weight will trigger the silent alarm. I have to do this alone.”
Elias looked at me, deeply unhappy, but he knew I was right. “You have a radio. If anything goes wrong, you press the panic button, and I will drive this truck through the front doors.”
I nodded.
I slipped out of the vehicle and walked through the damp grass toward the rear utility entrance. The night air was thick and humid. My left knee ached with every step, a sharp reminder of Cameron’s cruelty, but I ignored it.
I slid my master key into the heavy metal door. It clicked open.
I stepped into the dark, echoing hallway of the school. The smell of industrial floor cleaner and stale locker room air hit my nose. For three years, this had been my kingdom. I knew every shadow, every squeaking floorboard, every blind spot the cameras couldn't see.
I moved quietly through the corridors, sticking to the edge of the walls. It took me twelve minutes to navigate to the basement level where the secure server room was located.
When I turned the final corner, I froze.
The server room door was propped open. A faint, blue light spilled out into the dark hallway.
Someone was already inside.
I crept forward, my heart pounding in my chest. I peered around the doorframe.
It wasn't Arthur. It wasn't Cameron.
It was Dylan.
The third boy from the parking lot was sitting on the floor in front of the server rack, a laptop resting on his knees. He was trembling violently, his fingers flying across the keyboard, his face pale and slick with sweat in the blue light of the monitors.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Dylan whispered to himself, his voice thick with panic.
I stepped into the room.
Dylan gasped, jumping so hard the laptop nearly slid off his lap. He scrambled backward, his back hitting the server rack. When he saw it was me—the old janitor in the brown cardigan—he let out a ragged, hysterical breath.
“Margaret?” he choked out. “What… what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question, Dylan,” I said, keeping my voice low and calm.
He stared at me, completely unglued. The arrogant smirk from the parking lot was entirely gone. He was just a terrified child.
“I… I’m trying to delete my name,” Dylan confessed, tears suddenly spilling over his eyelashes. He gestured frantically to the laptop. “Cameron forced me to give him my login credentials for the network. He needed a student admin account to bypass the firewall. I didn't want to do it, Margaret! But he said if I didn't, his dad would get my dad fired from the firm. I didn't know he was going to alter the Ivy allocations!”
I looked at the screen. Dylan wasn't trying to steal the data. He was trying to sever his own digital footprint before the batch upload.
“He put the flash drive in Mason’s pocket when the headmaster came out,” I said.