Chapter 9 - THE DARK ARCHIVE
“Grant?”
Margaret heard movement.
Ortega drew his gun.
“Show yourself.”
Emergency lights flickered red.
Grant stood at the far end of the archive corridor.
No suit jacket now.
No calm smile.
Just anger.
“You got a warrant?” he asked.
Daniel’s attorney lifted the paper.
“Yes.”
Grant laughed.
“For stolen foundation documents?”
“For evidence relating to witness intimidation and obstruction.”
Grant looked at Margaret.
“Look what he’s done to you.”
“Daniel?”
“Who else?”
Margaret rolled forward.
“You framed him twenty years ago.”
Grant’s face hardened.
“Robert handled that.”
“You let him.”
“Daniel agreed.”
“He was threatened.”
Grant shrugged.
“Everybody is threatened by something.”
Margaret wanted to cross the room and slap him.
Instead, she said, “Emily knew.”
That landed.
Grant looked at Ortega.
“Whatever Daniel told you is a lie.”
“We have her voice.”
For the first time, Grant lost control.
“You have what?”
Ortega smiled without humor.
“Thank you.”
Grant realized too late.
He had confirmed he cared.
He stepped backward.
Then alarms exploded through the building.
Fire alarm.
Sprinklers.
Water poured from the ceiling.
“Move!” Ortega shouted.
Grant ran.
The archive doors began closing automatically.
Ortega chased him.
Margaret’s wheelchair hit water and slid sideways.
Daniel’s lawyer grabbed her.
“Judge!”
A metal shelf tipped.
Files crashed everywhere.
Margaret covered her head.
The emergency door slammed shut between her and Ortega.
Smoke began creeping through the vents.
Not fire alarm.
Actual fire.
Someone had set it.
Margaret grabbed the access card and swiped.
Red light.
Denied.
Again.
Denied.
Daniel’s lawyer kicked the door.
Nothing.
Smoke thickened.
Margaret coughed.
Then she saw a small maintenance panel near the floor.
“Break that.”
“With what?”
“My chair.”
He stared.
“Do it!”
He tipped Margaret slightly, slammed the footrest into the panel, and cracked it open.
A manual release lever sat inside.
He pulled.
The door unlocked.
They escaped into the stairwell as firefighters entered above them.
Outside, Ortega caught up.
“Grant got out.”
Margaret stared at the burning building.
“Of course he did.”
Ortega handed her something.
“I got this off the floor before the sprinklers hit.”
A photograph.
Emily standing beside her car.
Behind her, reflected in a storefront window, was an SUV.
Margaret knew the vehicle.
Robert’s black Lincoln.
She turned the photograph over.
A time and date were written on the back.
The night Emily died.
Margaret looked at Ortega.
“Robert was there.”
Ortega nodded slowly.
Then Margaret noticed something else in the reflection.
May you like
Someone was sitting in the passenger seat.
Grant.
