Chapter 5 - The First File
Ethan moved swiftly across the room and locked the heavy mahogany double doors from the inside.
He engaged the secondary deadbolt and turned off the automated keycard sensor on the wall panel.
A sharp, rhythmic knock sounded against the wood three seconds later.
“Ethan, it's Julian,” a calm, low voice called from the hallway.
Ethan peered through the brass peephole before turning the deadbolt and pulling the door open.
A tall, slender man in his early thirties entered quickly, carrying a heavy, matte-black Pelican case.
Julian Hayes wore rimless glasses and an austere gray suit, his eyes scanning the room with clinical focus.
He immediately noticed the hospital equipment, the bruising on my arms, and Ethan’s disheveled state.
“Mr. Harrison, the lobby is crawling with Sterling’s associates and private security guards,” Julian said.
“They tried to access the executive elevator, but I overrode the security grid from the basement terminal.”
“You have maybe twenty minutes before Margaret gets hospital administration to override my lockout.”
“That's all the time we need,” Ethan replied, leading Julian toward the visitor table.
Julian set the Pelican case on the table and popped the heavy latches with two loud clicks.
Inside rested a ruggedized, air-gapped laptop equipped with dedicated forensic decryption hardware.
Julian pulled a pair of anti-static gloves from his pocket and slid them onto his hands.
“Where is the media?” Julian asked.
Ethan stepped toward the bed, retrieved the black USB drive, and handed it to the technician.
Julian examined the casing under a small UV penlight, inspecting the tamper-evident tape.
“Custom military-grade enclosure,” Julian muttered, his eyebrows knitting together.
“This isn't commercial hardware. This was issued by Harrison Defense Logistics eight years ago.”
“It belonged to my father,” Ethan said, his voice thick with repressed grief.
Julian looked up, his eyes widening behind his glasses.
“Arthur's personal vault drive? We thought this was lost in the vehicle wreckage.”
“It was stolen from the wreckage before the police arrived,” Ethan stated plainly.
Julian didn't ask another question.
He inserted the drive into an isolated, write-blocked port on the side of the rugged laptop.
The laptop screen immediately lit up with scrolling lines of emerald-green command text.
“The drive is protected by a triple-layer AES-256 bit encryption key,” Julian reported, typing rapidly.
“Without the master passphrase, brute-forcing this could take several centuries.”
Ethan stepped closer to the screen, his gaze burning into the glowing text.
“Try my father’s wedding anniversary,” Ethan suggested quietly.
Julian typed the sequence; a red warning box flashed: *ACCESS DENIED - ATTEMPT 1 OF 3*.
“If we fail two more times, the internal thermite chip will fry the NAND flash memory,” Julian warned.
Ethan closed his eyes, thinking back to the man who had raised him with absolute devotion.
“My father had a Latin motto he engraved on every watch he ever gave me,” Ethan whispered.
“*Veritas Vincit Omnia*... Truth Conquers All.”
Julian’s fingers flew across the mechanical keyboard, entering the phrase followed by Arthur's birth year.
The laptop screen paused for three agonizing seconds.
The green text vanished, replaced by a deep blue directory screen showing three large folders.
“We are in,” Julian breathed, letting out a breath he had been holding for a minute.
The folders were clearly labeled in Arthur Harrison’s distinct naming convention:
*FOLDER 1: HGL OFFSHORE DIVERSIONS & SHELL AUDITS*
*FOLDER 2: MOTOR POOL TAMPERING & VANCE CORRESPONDENCE*
*FOLDER 3: CONTINGENCY - IN THE EVENT OF MY UNNATURAL DEATH*
Ethan reached out with a trembling hand and pointed toward the second folder.
“Open the Vance correspondence,” Ethan ordered.
Julian clicked the folder, revealing dozens of scanned bank wire receipts, audio files, and typed memos.
Julian selected the most recent audio file, dated just two weeks ago, and hit the play button.
The laptop’s high-definition speakers crackled to life, filling the sterile room with clear sound.
“Dr. Vance, the dosage you provided is taking far too long,” Margaret’s unmistakable voice filled the room.
Every hair on my arms stood on end as her cold, aristocratic tone echoed off the walls.
“Mrs. Harrison, thallium must be administered incrementally,” a man’s nervous voice replied.
“If she dies within forty-eight hours, the coroner will flag the heavy metal toxicity immediately.”
“Ethan is hovering over her like a mother hen, Vance! He is canceling board meetings to sit by her bed!”
“A few more drops in her daily tea, Margaret, and her respiratory system will simply stop responding.”
“The autopsy will show acute idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis... completely natural, completely untraceable.”
“Make sure of it, Robert. Once she is buried, your offshore account in Zurich will receive the final three million.”
The audio clip ended with the sharp click of a phone receiver being hung up.
Ethan stood frozen, his eyes wide and vacant as the horrific reality cemented itself into his brain.
Julian sat motionless at the keyboard, his face completely pale with shock.
“My God... she was murdering her in plain sight,” Julian whispered under his breath.
Before Ethan could speak, Julian clicked on the third folder: *CONTINGENCY*.
A video file appeared on the screen, dated the evening before Arthur Harrison’s fatal car crash.
Julian hit play, and the rugged screen displayed the tired, noble face of Arthur Harrison.
He was sitting in his wood-paneled study, wearing the same signet ring Ethan now wore on his finger.
“If you are watching this, Ethan, my beloved son... then I am already dead,” Arthur’s voice boomed softly.
Tears spilled down Ethan’s cheeks as he reached out, touching the screen where his father's face appeared.
“Your mother has discovered that I know everything about her treason,” Arthur continued solemnly.
“She has compromised our security team, and I fear I will not survive the journey to the upstate retreat.”
“Do not trust her, Ethan. Do not let her destroy the Harrison legacy or the people you love.”
“The key to stopping her is—”
Suddenly, a deafening mechanical clunk resonated through the hospital walls.
The bright fluorescent lights overhead flashed once, twice, and died completely.
The rhythmic hum of my oxygen concentrator groaned and shuddered to an abrupt halt.
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The entire VIP medical floor was instantly plunged into pitch-black darkness.
Outside the suite's heavy double doors, the distinct sound of heavy, rapid footsteps echoed down the hall.
