Chapter 10: The Prisoner in the Glass Office
Elena crept silently across the dusty carpet, using the high-backed cubicle partitions as cover until she reached the exterior wall of the glass conference office. Through the tinted glass panels, the scene inside came into sharp focus.
Seated in a metal chair in the center of the room was David Mercer.
Even from a distance, Elena could see the physical toll the past six months had taken on her brother. His face was gaunt, his dark hair streaked with gray and grown out past his collar, and a thick white bandage wrapped around his left wrist. But his eyes—those familiar, stubborn brown eyes—were alert and defiant.
Standing over him was Marcus Vance, a tall, impeccably dressed man in a charcoal suit, his silver hair neatly combed back. Clara stood near the door, holding the black canvas bag Elena had seen her retrieve at the bus terminal.
"You're wasting your time, Marcus," David said, his voice raspy from dehydration but steady. "The federal investigators already have the cloud backup. My sister has the pendant."
Marcus Vance let out a cold, humorless laugh. "Your sister is a schoolteacher living in a modest suburb, David. She doesn't even know where you are."
"She knows enough," a voice rang out from the main office doorway.
Everyone in the conference room froze. Marcus and Clara whipped around toward the entrance.
Elena stepped out from behind a file cabinet, her hands raised slightly, holding her smartphone with the camera active and recording every second of the confrontation. Her face was pale, but her voice did not shake.
"Let him go, Marcus," Elena said clearly. "The live stream is already broadcasting to federal servers. If anything happens to either of us, the encryption key drops public."
Clara gasped, dropping a folder of papers onto the polished mahogany conference table. "How did you—?"
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"You underestimated her, Clara," David whispered, a proud, tired smile breaking across his worn face for the first time in six months.
Marcus Vance, however, did not panic. His expression hardened into a predatory mask. He reached slowly into his jacket pocket, his fingers curling around the grip of a compact revolver. "You shouldn't have come here, Ms. Mercer. Curiosity is a fatal flaw."
