My Boss Locked Down Soundstage 4 After a Celebrity Broke My Late Wife's Cane — The Brass Key Inside Soundstage B-17 Exposed a 40-Year Studio Lie
The next morning, the studio hummed with rumors about a “minor security incident” at my workshop. No one dared to mention Brody Jax by name. Julian Kross, meanwhile, was in his executive office, a glass wall overlooking the lot, dictating orders to a visibly uncomfortable Evelyn DeWitt, the senior studio legal counsel.
I watched from a distance as Evelyn’s shoulders stiffened. She was principled, known for her meticulous adherence to legal ethics. Julian was pacing, his voice rising, even muffled by the thick glass. He gestured aggressively towards a digital projection of various studio documents, including, I could only assume, my now-missing ledgers.
He pounded a fist on his desk. “I want every single record, every mention of Vault B-17, purged. Digital, physical, doesn’t matter. It never existed. And if that old fool Pendelton brings it up again, find a way to silence him legally.”
Evelyn’s jaw tightened. She picked up a legal pad, her pen poised, but I saw her hesitate, her eyes flickering towards a small framed photo on her desk—a picture of her and her young daughter. She was caught between her duty to the studio and her own conscience.
Later that afternoon, I was checking inventory in the narrow prop alley behind Soundstage 2, the air smelling of paint and sawdust. A figure approached, her heels clicking softly on the concrete. It was Evelyn. She looked pale, her face tight with a conflict I recognized.
“Arthur,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “we need to talk. Five minutes. Here. Nobody sees.”
I turned, my back to the soundstage door, shielding her from view. Buster, ever watchful, sat patiently beside me.
“Julian is out of line,” Evelyn said, her eyes darting around the alley, checking for prying eyes. “Destroying records, involving an actor in a criminal act—it’s a direct violation of corporate compliance, not to mention multiple felonies.”
She reached into the inner pocket of her tailored blazer. Her hand trembled slightly as she pulled out a sleek, black keycard, its magnetic strip gleaming faintly.
“This is an administrative master keycard,” she explained, pressing it into my palm. It felt cool and smooth. “It grants access to all sub-basement levels, even those Julian thinks are locked down. It overrides the specific door locks too.”
My fingers closed around it. “Why are you doing this, Evelyn?”
She met my gaze, her eyes holding a surprising depth of conviction. “Because what he’s doing is wrong, Arthur. And what he’s covering up… it feels bigger than just some financial scandal. He said ‘protect the studio’s integrity,’ but he meant his own reputation. My daughter looks up to me. I can’t be part of this.”
“He’ll know you helped me,” I warned, thinking of Julian’s ruthlessness.
A grim smile touched her lips. “I’ll plead ignorance. Say I lost it. He can’t prove otherwise without implicating himself further. Just… be careful, Arthur. Julian is desperate.”
She turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing briefly before she disappeared around the corner. I stood there, the keycard a pulsing warmth in my hand. Evelyn DeWitt, a woman who had every reason to protect her career, had just handed me the weapon I needed to breach Julian’s wall. The game had just escalated, and now I had an unexpected ally.
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