Chapter 6 - The Garage Descent
Marcus kept the sedan moving at a steady, unremarkable pace as we merged onto the expressway, blending seamlessly with the mid-morning commuter traffic. Outside the tinted windows, the gray towers of the financial district rose against the overcast sky like cold monuments to corporate ambition. My fingers brushed the smooth aluminum casing of the tablet resting on my lap, feeling the chill of the device that held the proof of our vindication. Every mile we covered brought us closer to the glass monolith where the foundation board was currently holding its emergency session.
"Vance knows Julian is looking for him," Marcus said, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror for any sign of a tail. "He's going to lock down the executive elevators. If we try to walk through the main lobby with visitor passes, security will flag your badge instantly. The system will show your credentials as restricted."
"My badge was restricted?" I asked, turning to look at him, the realization stinging. "When did they do that?"
"Late last night, right after you left the office," Marcus replied grimly. "Vance anticipated that someone might try to access the financial archives today. But he didn't count on you keeping the encrypted recovery key on this backup tablet."
We took the off-ramp toward the foundation's underground parking garage, descending into the cool, subterranean gloom where rows of luxury sedans sat beneath flickering fluorescent lights. Marcus killed the headlights as we rolled into a shadowed corner slot near the concrete pillars. The air smelled of exhaust fumes and damp cement. We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the rhythmic ticking of the cooling engine.
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"We take the freight elevator behind the loading dock," Marcus instructed, unbuckling his seatbelt. "It bypasses the main security desk entirely, but it requires a manual override keycard that Vance keeps in the basement maintenance office. Stay close to me, and don't make eye contact with anyone we pass."
I nodded, adjusting the collar of my shirt and feeling the dull, persistent throb of the bruise on my ribs as a reminder of what was at stake. We slipped out of the car, our footsteps echoing off the concrete floor as we moved toward the heavy steel fire door marked with a stenciled yellow warning sign. Marcus pushed it open, and we stepped into the industrial underbelly of the building, trading the quiet tension of the car for the low, vibrating hum of the facility's massive climate control generators.
