Diaz’s jaw tightened, but he snapped the keeper shut. "Dispatch logged grand larceny, Thorne. Vance sent the exact description. Black canvas case, brass latches, state inspection binders. It matches."
"Then it gets logged under dual custody at the terminal substation," Thorne replied. He turned to me, gray eyes steady under his brim. "Pick up your bag, Mr. Miller. Keep it against your chest. Walk three paces ahead. If your hands move toward your pockets, this stops being a jurisdictional dispute."
I lifted the canvas case against my ribs. Inside, four hundred pages of non-destructive testing reports pressed against stiff dividers—every ultrasound trace, metallurgical hardness rating, and mechanic signature from the state hangar mechanics who refused to clear Ardent’s freight fleet.
We moved past shuttered duty-free kiosks and cleaning crews on the polished terrazzo, ducking through the service door beside Gate B4 into the back corridors. Cold jet exhaust and industrial wax drifted up from the lower ramp. A freight elevator carried us to the tarmac level, where the Port Authority substation sat behind reinforced steel doors.
The station intake room hummed under buzzing fluorescent tubes. Behind the bullet-resistant partition sat the desk sergeant, an older officer named Wallace. But she was not alone.
Sitting on the wooden bench, cashmere coat draped across his knees, was Frank Keller.
Keller was Ardent Logistics’ regional operations director—the man who signed off on gate leases and maintenance deferrals. He held a manila folder stamped with a corporate seal, an empty paper cup from the executive lounge resting beside his briefcase.
"Officer Thorne," Keller said, stepping forward with an easy smile. "Appreciate you bringing him in. Director Vance notified legal forty minutes ago. We have a ramp courier waiting to take custody of those binders so morning freight departures aren't delayed."
"This isn't a private courier pickup, Mr. Keller," Thorne said, walking past him. "This is an intake desk."
"It's Ardent property," Keller insisted, tapping the counter ledge. "Those inspection reports cover our airframes. Miller was suspended at four-thirty. He has no authority to retain corporate records, let alone transport them across state lines. Director Vance signed an emergency release authorizing Ardent to secure them directly."
He slid a sheet across the metal tray. It was a State Division of Transit property reclaim form bearing Julian Vance’s digital signature and the state seal.
Sergeant Wallace adjusted her glasses, glancing from the paper to my bag. "Looks like an authorized reclaim, Thorne. Vance lists the files as stolen state property released to the registered equipment owner."
"That reclaim is legally void," I said, stepping to the counter. "Those files are certified regulatory work products under Section Twelve of the Safety Code. An executive director cannot reclassify active regulatory evidence as private corporate property without a formal board vote."
Keller exhaled quietly. "David, your credentials were revoked two hours ago. You have no standing to debate code. Hand over the case, let the board process your severance, and don't turn a suspension into an indictment."
"Why did Nathan Cole take my seat on Flight 418, Keller?" I asked.
Keller did not flinch. "Counsel Cole was dispatched to handle an expedited regulatory settlement. That is an executive decision above your pay grade."
"It’s an illegal substitution," I said, turning to Wallace. "And I can prove it on your terminal teletype."
Wallace frowned. "What teletype?"
"The FAA Flight Standards safety network," I said. "Every ultrasonic scan performed on a commercial airframe registers an automated telemetry hash. When Master Inspector Elena Alvarez tested Ardent’s three freighters at Hangar Nine on Tuesday, the transducer machine uploaded raw frequency logs directly to the FAA safety server under case TR-4401."
Keller’s posture stiffened into rigid silence.