Chapter 11 - The Hidden Lining
Jax paused, his dark eyes locking onto Sarah’s pale face in the pitch-black confines of the drainage tunnel. The distant sound of heavy boots tramping across the greenhouse floor above them echoed off the damp concrete walls, sending small trickles of dust down from the ceiling.
"What flash drives?" Jax asked, his voice a tense whisper that barely carried over the steady drip of underground water.
"All of it... the corporate transfers, the offshore accounts, Elena's voice logs authorizing the security lockdown," Sarah breathed, coughing weakly as a shudder racked her frame. "She didn't just lock the SUV. She wiped the entire main server to bury the evidence of the embezzlement."
Jax reached out, his calloused fingers searching the inner hem of Sarah’s torn white blazer. His hand brushed against a hidden seam, and with a sharp pull, he ripped open the secret compartment. Two small, matte-black USB drives fell cleanly into his palm, cold and heavy with incriminating data.
"I have them," Jax said, slipping the drives safely into the inner pocket of his black vest.
"As long as those drives exist, Elena and her associates won't stop hunting us," Sarah warned, her grip on his wrist tightening with a desperate, fading strength. "They need those files deleted before the federal audit hits tomorrow morning."
"Let them try," Jax growled, his jaw tightening as he stared down the long, dark stretch of the drainage pipe.
Suddenly, the harsh beam of a tactical flashlight cut through the rusted slats of the iron grate behind them. The beam danced across the brick floor, stopping dead just a few feet from where they huddled in the darkness.
"Hey! Check the drainage intake!" a harsh voice shouted from above.
Lily let out a sharp gasp, her small hands flying over her mouth to muffle the sound. Jax instantly pulled her against his chest, wrapping his massive frame around both her and Sarah to shield them from view.
A heavy pair of combat boots landed on the metal grate with a deafening clang. A gloved hand reached down, gripping the rusted iron bars and rattling them furiously.
"Sir, we have movement in the culvert!" the operative yelled into a shoulder mic.
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Jax didn't hesitate. He pulled a heavy industrial wrench from his belt—grabbed from the greenhouse tool shed moments earlier—and waited in the absolute stillness of the shadows, his muscles coiled like a spring. The grate gave a violent screech as the operative above began attempting to pry the rusted hinges loose with a crowbar.
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