====================
Thomas nodded.
They headed for the door.
But just as Marcus reached it, his phone vibrated.
For the first time since entering the building, he had signal.
A message had arrived from an unknown number.
There was only one photograph.
Marcus opened it.
His entire body went still.
Thomas looked over his shoulder.
“Oh my God.”
The photograph showed Eleanor Brooks.
She was alive.
Sitting in a chair inside a dark room.
Her hands were not tied.
She did not appear injured.
But she was not alone.
Standing behind her was the man with the black briefcase.
In front of Eleanor, on a table, was an old leather-bound file.
And beneath the photograph was a single message.
MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE.
Marcus stared at the words.
Then another message appeared.
BRING THE CARD.
He slowly reached into his pocket.
His hand closed around the black access card.
Suddenly, it no longer seemed mysterious.
Someone knew exactly where it was.
Someone had planned for Marcus to find it.
And now, whether he understood the game or not, he had just been invited to play the next round.Marcus read the message three times.
MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE.
Below it, the second message remained on the screen.
BRING THE CARD.
Thomas stood beside him in Eleanor’s office, staring at the photograph.
Neither of them spoke.
Outside the window, rain continued to fall over Chicago. It was still afternoon, yet Marcus already felt as though the entire day had lasted a week.
He looked again at Eleanor.
She appeared calm in the photograph.
Too calm.
Her hands rested loosely on the table in front of her. Her gray coat was gone, but she was wearing the same navy suit from earlier. The man with the black briefcase stood behind her.
Marcus enlarged the image.
“What?” Thomas asked.
“Look at her.”
Thomas leaned closer.
“What about her?”
Marcus pointed toward Eleanor’s right hand.
At first, Thomas saw nothing.
Then Marcus zoomed in further.
A small silver ring was turned upside down on her finger.
Thomas frowned.
“So?”
Marcus remembered the morning in the lobby.
Eleanor had worn the same ring.
A plain silver band with a small engraved symbol.
The same symbol printed on the black access card.
The divided circle.
Marcus felt something click into place.
“She’s trying to tell us something.”
Thomas looked at the card.
“The card and the ring?”
“Same symbol.”
Before Thomas could respond, Marcus’s phone rang.
Both men froze.
Unknown number.
Marcus answered.
“Hello?”
For several seconds, there was only static.
Then a man spoke.
“Midnight.”
Marcus immediately recognized the voice.
The man with the black briefcase.
“Who are you?” Marcus demanded.
The man ignored the question.
“You have the card.”
“Where’s Ms. Brooks?”
“She’s safe.”
Marcus clenched his jaw.
“If you hurt her—”
“You still think this is about hurting people.”
The stranger sounded almost amused.
Marcus stepped away from Thomas.
“Then what is it about?”
“Truth.”
Marcus looked at Eleanor’s photograph.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because everyone has been lying to you.”
The line went silent.
Marcus waited.
Then the man spoke again.
“Richard Bennett is not who you think he is.”
Marcus’s grip tightened.
“And neither is Eleanor Brooks.”
The call ended.
Marcus lowered the phone.
Thomas was watching him.
“What did he say?”
Marcus looked toward Eleanor’s desk.
“That everyone’s lying.”
Thomas gave a humorless laugh.
“At least that part is believable.”
By six o’clock, Westbridge Center had been partially evacuated.
The security failure had become impossible to hide.
Technical teams were examining the damaged communication system. Police officers had arrived to speak with senior management. Employees were being sent home in groups while security officers checked identification at every exit.
Marcus wanted to tell the police everything.
The hidden tunnel.
The planted access card.
The man with the briefcase.
The photograph of Eleanor.
But Richard Bennett had given him one instruction.
Say nothing until I explain.
Marcus had ignored enough instructions that day to know when doing so might be dangerous.
Still, keeping quiet felt wrong.
At seven fifteen, Bennett finally appeared.
He entered the security control room and closed the door behind him.
Marcus stood immediately.
“Where have you been?”
Bennett looked exhausted.
“For once, Cole, I’m glad you’re asking questions.”
Marcus crossed his arms.
“Start answering them.”
Thomas glanced between the two men.
Bennett looked at the monitors.
Then he reached into his coat and placed a thick file on the desk.
The cover was faded.
Across the front were three words.
CLARK INVESTIGATION — 2018
Marcus stared at it.
“The file.”
Bennett nodded.
“One of them.”
Marcus frowned.
“One of them?”
Bennett opened it.
Inside were photographs, financial reports, handwritten notes, and old security records.
“Eight years ago,” Bennett said, “Harold Clark discovered that someone inside Westbridge was selling confidential property information.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“To who?”
“Developers. Competitors. Anyone willing to pay.”
Marcus remembered the old footage.
Harold Clark and Bennett entering the underground tunnel.
“Clark knew who it was?”
Bennett looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Bennett hesitated.
Then he answered.
“His son.”
Thomas went silent.
Marcus stared at him.
“Harold Clark’s son?”
“Daniel Clark.”
Marcus knew the name.
Daniel Clark had once been listed as a future executive within the company. But after Harold’s death, Daniel had disappeared from the organization.
“I thought he resigned.”
“That was the official story.”
Marcus felt his stomach tighten.
“And the real story?”
Bennett closed the file.
“Daniel was stealing from his father’s company.”
Marcus thought about the man with the black briefcase.
“Is he the man we’re looking for?”
Bennett nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
For a moment, Marcus said nothing.
Everything suddenly made sense.
The message.
The security breach.
The reference to Clark.
The stranger’s knowledge of the building.
He had not broken into Westbridge Center.
He had once belonged there.
“Why now?” Marcus asked.
Bennett’s expression darkened.
“Because he believes Eleanor has something he wants.”
Marcus looked toward the mysterious black card.
“What does this have to do with her?”
Bennett stared at it.
“That card opens something no one has accessed in eight years.”
Marcus waited.
Bennett continued.
“A private archive.”
Thomas frowned.
“Where?”
Bennett looked toward the floor.
“Under the building.”
Marcus immediately understood.
The sealed tunnel.
The steel door.
The old corridor.
Everything led back underground.
“The archive contains the original evidence against Daniel Clark,” Bennett said. “Evidence his father collected before he died.”
Marcus thought of the old leather-bound file in the photograph.
“Then why does Daniel want me to bring the card?”