The heavy steel shutter sealed Brenda and Evelyn inside the vault corridor. I could hear their muffled shouts, followed by the frantic thud of Brenda hitting the metal. But I had no time. Kincaid was at my door.
I moved to the hidden service hatch, my hand on the release, when Brenda’s voice cut through the muffled steel, clearer now.
“Marcus! Wait!”
I hesitated, looking back at the vault door. Through the reinforced viewport glass, Brenda’s face was pressed against the pane, desperate. Evelyn was behind her, slumped against the wall, eyes wide with fear.
Brenda fumbled inside her jacket pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. She slid it through the narrow gap where the main vault door’s electronic lock had been destroyed, the same gap where I’d snatched the portfolio.
“Leo wants you to have this,” she pleaded. “He wrote it for you.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. I snatched the letter, my fingers fumbling as I unfolded it. My flashlight beam found the familiar script. Leo’s handwriting.
*Dad,* the letter began, *I know you don’t trust anyone, but I couldn’t risk it. Kincaid tapped my phone three days ago. He knows about the drives, he knows about your safehouse. I heard them. He was coming for you. I thought Brenda could get them out, quietly.*
The paper crinkled in my trembling hand. Kincaid knew. He had tapped Leo’s phone. My son, trying to protect me, had inadvertently exposed both of us. Brenda hadn’t been acting solely on Leo’s naive request; she’d been acting on genuine, verified intel.
Brenda watched me through the glass, her expression somber. “He thought it was the only way.”
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