Chapter 10
Arthur ascended the stairs with absolute calm, stepping onto the plush Persian rug of the main hallway. He didn't rush or try to hide behind pillars; he walked with the steady, measured pace of a man keeping an appointment. The heavy oak double doors to the private study were cracked open an inch, leaking a warm ribbon of light across the darkened corridor floor.
He pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside the room.
Director Robert Henderson looked up from his paperwork, annoyed at the interruption. Henderson was a sleek, impeccably groomed man in his late fifties, wearing a tailored charcoal suit and a silk tie. His expression of mild irritation instantly vanished, replaced by profound shock as he recognized the weathered, rugged face standing before him in the doorway.
"Arthur Miller," Henderson breathed, pushing his chair back so hard it rolled against the bookshelves behind him. "How on earth did you get in here? Security..."
"Your perimeter is designed to keep out trespassers, not fathers looking for answers," Arthur said, his voice level and entirely devoid of menace, which made it far more terrifying. He walked slowly toward the massive desk, stopping a few feet away.
Henderson recovered his composure with practiced corporate smoothness, adjusting his cuffs and leaning back against the edge of the shelf. "Ah. I see. You’re still chasing ghosts, Arthur. I told your local police department years ago, your daughter had a mental breakdown. She walked away from her responsibilities, liquidated her accounts, and vanished out of state. It’s a tragedy, truly, but it has nothing to do with me or my company."
Arthur reached into his inner pocket, pulled out the matte-black flash drive, and placed it gently on the center of the polished walnut desk, right over Henderson’s paperwork. Then, he placed the small titanium ring beside it.
Henderson stared at the two items. The color drained entirely from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, gray hue. He didn't reach for them; he just looked at them as if they were venomous snakes ready to strike.
"Grade-EX titanium," Arthur said quietly. "Falsified stress telemetry reports. Certified structural components failing under load. And a log of every single bribe and signature authorizing the shipments to city infrastructure projects. I have the master backup right here on this drive, Director. And a duplicate copy is currently sitting on an independent terminal wired directly to the state transport board, set with a timer that triggers automatically if I don't deactivate it by sunrise."
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Henderson swallowed hard, his throat working convulsively. The corporate mask had completely shattered, revealing a cornered, desperate man beneath the expensive tailoring. "You don't understand what you're holding, Arthur. Those components... they were cost-saving measures. Necessary risks to keep the regional division afloat during the market crash. If those reports go public, the company collapses, thousands of jobs vanish overnight, and the legal fallout..."
"Will finally bring justice to the people who traded human lives for corporate profit," Arthur interrupted, his voice cutting through Henderson's excuses like a cold blade. "Where is Clara?"
