“Then why are you volunteering?”
Marcus glanced at Eleanor.
He remembered the lobby.
The assumptions.
The mistakes.
The distraction.
Then he looked back at Bennett.
“Because I missed him once.”
Eleanor’s expression softened slightly.
But Bennett was not convinced.
“This isn’t about making up for what happened this morning.”
“No,” Marcus said quietly. “It isn’t.”
He looked toward the map again.
“It’s about not making the same mistake twice.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Eleanor walked to a nearby security cabinet and removed a flashlight.
She handed it to Marcus.
“Take Thomas with you.”
Marcus accepted it.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bennett frowned.
“Ms. Brooks—”
“That is not a suggestion, Richard.”
He stopped.
Marcus and Thomas headed toward the stairwell.
Neither spoke until they reached the underground level.
The air changed as soon as they descended.
It was colder.
Darker.
The bright polished lobby of Westbridge Center felt like another world.
At the end of the corridor stood a heavy metal door.
Marcus tried the handle.
Locked.
Thomas checked the electronic panel.
“Access system is offline.”
Marcus frowned.
“Again?”
Thomas plugged a small diagnostic device into the control port.
After a moment, his face changed.
“What?”
Thomas stepped aside.
“You need to see this.”
Marcus looked at the screen.
A series of access attempts had been recorded during the previous night.
Most had failed.
Then, at 6:42 that morning, one entry succeeded.
Marcus felt his heart begin to race.
“Whose card?”
Thomas shook his head.
“That’s the problem.”
The identification code had been deleted.
Not corrupted.
Not missing.
Deleted.
Marcus slowly looked toward the metal door.
Someone had entered the service tunnel before the building opened.
Someone with knowledge of the security system.
Someone who knew exactly how to erase the evidence.
Thomas looked at him.
“Should we call Bennett?”
Marcus hesitated.
The old version of him would have said no.
He would have wanted to solve it himself.
To prove that he could handle it.
But Eleanor’s voice echoed in his mind.
The problem begins when you believe asking for help would make you look weak.
Marcus reached for his radio.
“Security control, this is Cole.”
He paused.
“Possible unauthorized access to the underground service tunnel. Requesting immediate backup.”
Thomas looked at him.
Marcus lowered the radio.
“What?”
Thomas smiled slightly.
“Nothing.”
Marcus looked toward the door.
Then he pushed it open.
The hinges groaned.
Darkness stretched ahead.
The service tunnel smelled of dust, rust, and old concrete.
Marcus lifted his flashlight.
For several minutes, they moved slowly through the narrow passage.
Then Thomas stopped.
“Marcus.”
Marcus turned.
Thomas was pointing at the floor.
There, partially hidden beneath a pile of broken insulation, was a small black object.
Marcus crouched down.
It was an access card.
He picked it up.
At first, he saw nothing unusual.
Then he turned it over.
The name printed on the back made him freeze.
RICHARD BENNETT.
Marcus slowly stood.
Thomas looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
Marcus stared at the card.
The Head of Security’s personal access card had been used somewhere it should not have been.
But Marcus did not know whether Bennett had lost it.
Whether someone had copied it.
Or whether the man in charge of protecting the entire building was connected to the security breach.
Marcus’s radio suddenly crackled again.
Bennett’s voice came through.
“Cole. Report.”
Marcus looked at Thomas.
Then at the access card in his hand.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Finally, he pressed the button.
“Still investigating, sir.”
He released it.
But as they continued deeper into the tunnel, Marcus felt a new kind of fear growing inside him.
This time, the person he might have to question was not a stranger.
Not a suspicious visitor.
Not a woman in a gray coat.
It might be his own boss.
And Marcus was beginning to understand that in Westbridge Center, the people who looked like they belonged were not always the people he could trust.
Marcus stood in the middle of the underground service tunnel, staring at the access card in his hand.
RICHARD BENNETT.
The name seemed heavier now that it was printed on a small piece of black plastic.
Thomas leaned closer.
“Are you sure that’s real?”
Marcus turned the card over.
The Westbridge security seal was embedded beneath the surface. The identification number matched the format used for senior staff.
“It looks real.”
“That doesn’t mean Bennett put it here.”
“I know.”
Thomas looked toward the darkness ahead.
“Then what do we do?”
Marcus’s first instinct was to call Bennett.
His thumb moved toward the radio clipped to his shoulder.
Then he stopped.
If Bennett was innocent, contacting him immediately would be the correct procedure.
But if Bennett was involved—
Marcus looked down at the card again.
Someone inside the building had already erased access records.
Someone knew how to manipulate the system.
And the Head of Security had access to everything.
“We document it first,” Marcus said.
Thomas nodded.
Marcus removed his phone and photographed the card exactly where he had found it. Then he photographed the surrounding floor, the insulation, the wall, and the nearby access panel.
Only after documenting everything did he carefully place the card inside an evidence bag.
Thomas watched him.
“You learned that in training?”
Marcus looked up.
“No.”
“Then where?”
Marcus thought about Eleanor.
“From making mistakes.”
They continued deeper into the tunnel.
The passage narrowed until they had to walk single file. Old pipes ran across the ceiling. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness.
Marcus kept his flashlight pointed ahead.
Then he stopped.
“Wait.”
Thomas nearly walked into him.
“What is it?”
Marcus lowered the beam toward the ground.
There were footprints in the dust.
Fresh ones.
Thomas crouched beside him.
“Two sets?”
Marcus studied them.
“One set looks heavier.”
“And the other?”
“Smaller.”
They followed the trail.
After several minutes, the footprints led to a steel door at the far end of the tunnel.
Unlike the other doors, this one had no electronic scanner.
Only an old mechanical lock.
Marcus tested the handle.
Locked.
Thomas checked the surrounding wall.
“This area was supposed to be sealed.”
Marcus shone his flashlight toward the lock.
Something caught the light.
A thin line of fresh scratches surrounded the keyhole.
“Someone opened it recently.”
Thomas looked nervous.
“Maybe we should wait for backup.”
Marcus considered it.
For once, he did not feel embarrassed by the suggestion.
“Yeah,” he said. “We wait.”
Thomas gave him a surprised look.
Marcus smiled slightly.
“Don’t get used to it.”
Before Thomas could answer, Marcus’s radio crackled.
“Cole.”
Bennett.
Marcus lifted the radio.
“This is Cole.”
“Where are you?”
Marcus looked toward the sealed door.
“Underground service tunnel.”
====================