Chapter 4
Arthur gripped the edge of the wooden desk, feeling the rough grain bite into his palms. The air in the office suddenly felt thick and suffocating. "What container? What was inside it?"
Marcus Vance turned back to face him, his expression a mixture of caution and reluctant sympathy. He ran a rough hand through his white hair. "Look, Mr. Miller, when big corporations clean house, they don't just throw things in the dumpster. They shred, they melt, and sometimes they seal up private lockers and sell them off as bulk scrap to keep auditors off their backs. Two years ago, right after your daughter stopped coming to work, a sealed locker bearing her employee ID number was dropped off here as part of an unlabelled surplus lot."
"And you opened it?" Arthur asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
"Of course I opened it," Vance said defensively. "That's my business. Mostly it was personal notebooks, old coffee mugs, some reference manuals on alloy stress tolerances. Standard desk contents. But there was a small locked inner metal box inside the locker. A titanium strongbox with a digital keypad. I couldn't crack it. It needed a biometric override or a specialized master code that wasn't in the paperwork."
"Where is that box now?" Arthur demanded, stepping closer.
Vance pointed a calloused finger toward the rear corner of the office, where a heavy iron safe sat half-hidden beneath a dusty tarp. "It’s right over there. Unopened. I kept it because it didn't feel right scrapping personal items belonging to someone who clearly hadn't abandoned them by choice. The corporate suits told us the employees signed away all unclaimed property upon termination, but your daughter didn't terminate her contract, did she? She just vanished."
Arthur walked over to the safe, pulled the heavy canvas tarp away, and stared at the iron door. "Can I open it?"
"Be my guest," Vance said, walking over and spinning the dial to a mechanical combination before swinging the heavy door outward. He reached into the dark interior and pulled out a heavy, matte-black titanium lockbox, placing it gently on the center table. The box was roughly the size of a hardcover book, featuring a flush digital fingerprint scanner on its upper lid that had long since lost its battery charge.
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Arthur pulled a small multi-tool from his belt pouch, selecting a precision flathead screwdriver to examine the casing. "It needs power to read the biometrics, or an emergency mechanical bypass."
"Well," Vance said, leaning against the desk with a faint, grim smile. "If your daughter designed these housings like I think she did, there’s a mechanical keyhole hidden beneath the serial number plate on the bottom. But you’ll need a very specific triangular hex wrench to unscrew it."
