Chapter 6 - The Diner Meeting
The neon sign of the highway diner flickered against the gray pre-dawn drizzle, humming with a low, electrical buzz that matched the static in my head. We had parked two miles back on a gravel turnout, walking the last stretch along the drainage ditch to avoid leaving tire tracks behind the pine trees. Cormac checked the heavy brass deadbolt on the side door before sliding into the cracked vinyl booth opposite me. The air smelled of stale grease, brewed coffee, and damp wool.
Across the aisle, a truck driver in a faded flannel shirt stared into his mug of black coffee, paying us no mind. I kept my fingers wrapped tightly around my own ceramic cup, letting the heat seep into my numb skin. We were waiting for Arthur Finch, a senior board member of the Marsh Foundation who had quietly hinted over encrypted channels that he wanted out of Gideon’s inner circle. If Arthur delivered the internal audit logs we needed, we could bypass the federal waiting periods and force a public freeze on foundation assets before the afternoon markets opened.
The brass bell above the diner entrance chimed, sending a sharp draft across the linoleum floor. Arthur walked in with his trench coat collar turned up against the cold, his silver-rimmed glasses fogging instantly in the warm air. He looked older than he had in the boardroom, his shoulders hunched under the weight of his own panic. He spotted our booth in the corner, hesitated for a fraction of a second, and hurried over, sliding onto the bench beside Cormac with nervous, jerky movements.
"You shouldn't have asked me to come here," Arthur whispered, pulling a manila envelope from his pocket and sliding it across the formica table. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely let go of the tab. "Gideon's people are already scouring the network logs. They know someone accessed the Tier-Four server repository last night."
I reached out, my fingers brushing the corner of the thick envelope, but before I could pull it toward me, the overhead fluorescent lights flickered violently and died. The diner plunged into a heavy, amber-toned shadow as the emergency backup generator kicked in with a dull roar. Through the rain-streaked front window, two black SUVs pulled off the highway with their high beams killed, idling silently in the empty gravel lot.
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"Arthur," I said, my voice dropping into a flat, icy register as realization hit my chest like a physical blow. "Who else knew about this meeting?"
Arthur shrank back against the cracked vinyl, his face draining of all remaining color. "I had to protect my pension, Sloane. They promised me immunity if I brought you in."
