“Do you have the drive?”
“Yes.”
“Seal intact?”
I looked at Parker.
She nodded.
“Appears intact.”
“Appears?”
“It was in police custody.”
Another silence.
“What happened?”
“Later. Can we tunnel from a clean commercial network?”
“We can.”
“How fast?”
“If the drive is clean and the line holds, fifty-two minutes for transfer, maybe another forty for full verification.”
“Maybe?”
“Could be less. Could be more.”
“What do you need?”
“A machine we control.”
“I don’t have one.”
“You have your laptop.”
“It’s in the case.”
He exhaled.
“Right.”
I looked at the latches.
The briefcase was not simply a container. It was part of the security chain.
Two biometric contacts sat beneath the handle.
A physical seal ran inside the frame.
If the latches were forced out of sequence, the drive could trigger its failsafe.
I touched the watch on my wrist.
Not because it did anything.
Because my grandfather had taught me that panic wastes time before bad decisions.
“Walk me through it,” I said.
My engineer did.
Thumb.
Index finger.
Left latch.
Seven-second pause.
Right latch.
Biometric confirmation.
The case opened.
No alarm.
I exhaled once.
Inside, the laptop sat above a foam-lined compartment. Beneath it was the drive, smaller than the fate we had assigned to it.
I lifted the laptop.
A narrow security indicator beside the drive glowed amber.
My engineer saw it through the video call.
“Stop.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Don’t remove the drive.”
“Why?”
“Amber means a physical intrusion event registered.”
I looked at Parker.
Her posture changed.
“What kind?”
“Could be impact. Could be latch pressure.”
My eyes went to the briefcase.
Davies had taken it from me at the gate.
He had carried it through the terminal.
He had set it on the detention-room counter.
I remembered his hand brushing the latches.
“How bad?”
“Depends.”
“That word needs to leave your vocabulary for the next hour.”
“Marcus, listen. The seal didn’t break or you’d have red. Amber means the controller registered force outside the normal opening sequence.”
“Can we transfer?”
“Yes.”
“Risk?”
“If authentication fails after the drive is removed, the controller may interpret it as tampering.”
“Meaning?”
“It wipes.”
Claire covered her mouth.
The duty manager looked away.
Parker said, “What do you need to prevent that?”
My engineer answered through the speaker.
“A trusted biometric unlock and continuous power before removal.”
I looked at the laptop.
“Can this machine provide continuous power?”
“Yes, but Marcus, once we connect it, do not interrupt the cable. Don’t close the software. Don’t lose power.”
“How long?”
“Until verification completes.”
I checked my watch.
4:03.
“Do it.”
I connected the laptop to the conference-room network.
The duty manager produced an Ethernet cable.
The first handshake failed.
My engineer muttered something I did not hear clearly.
“What?”
“Certificate mismatch.”
“Fix it.”
“Working.”
Parker’s radio crackled.
She stepped into the hall.
Claire remained by the door.
I glanced at her.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
She shrugged.
“You asked me to note the time.”
I looked at her.
She gave the smallest smile.
“Figured I’d see how it ended.”
The network icon changed.
My engineer’s voice sharpened.
“We have tunnel.”
“Next.”
“Biometric unlock.”
I placed my thumb on the drive sensor.
Green.
“Continuous power connected.”
The amber indicator blinked.
Then turned green.
For the first time all afternoon, my shoulders loosened.
“Remove it,” the engineer said.
I lifted the drive.
Connected it.
A progress bar appeared.
0%.
Then 1%.
No one in the room spoke.
At 4:08, the upload began.
I sat down.
Claire quietly closed the door.
The first ten percent moved quickly.
Then the speed dropped.
My engineer watched the diagnostic panel.
“Traffic fluctuation.”
“Can you compensate?”
“Already doing it.”
I called legal on a second device the duty manager loaned me.
My chief legal officer answered with, “You are on every local news station.”
“I don’t care.”
“You need to.”
“I need the injunction ready.”
“It is. We file the moment the signatures authenticate.”
“What’s the board status?”
“Three directors are getting nervous.”
“Tell them not to sell fear as prudence.”
“They’re worried the deadline slips.”