The following evening, a heavy stillness hung in the air behind the craft services truck, where the aroma of lukewarm coffee usually lingered.
Hector Castillo stood with Clara Danforth, their faces illuminated by the dim glow of the studio lights in the distance. Clara clutched a small, official-looking printout in her hand.
“Here,” Clara said, her voice a low murmur. She handed Hector the printout, her eyes darting nervously around the empty lot. “I pulled the internal vault access logs. From the night your accounts were frozen.”
Hector took the sheet, his eyes scanning the lines of coded information. His brow furrowed as he found a specific entry.
“‘Vault entry, Archive A-7. 11:14 PM. Pass key: V. Kross’,” Hector read aloud, his voice flat. “That’s Veronica’s old pass key. From when she was Oakridge’s assistant.”
“Exactly,” Clara confirmed, nodding. “But it wasn’t Veronica who used it.”
Hector traced the next line with his finger. “‘User ID: Julian Kross.’ The system logs his biometrics. It was him. He used her old pass key to get in.”
A cold gust of wind swept through the lot, rustling the papers. The truth was stark and undeniable. Julian hadn’t just been passively involved; he had actively retrieved the original estate file himself.
“He went in at 11:14 PM,” Clara continued, her voice gaining a slight tremor. “Pulled the file. Then, just hours later, the freeze happened. The default notice was triggered. It’s all here, plain as day.”
Hector folded the printout carefully, tucking it into his pocket. His jaw tightened. “So he didn’t just ‘try to intercept’ anything. He triggered the whole damn thing.”
Clara nodded, her gaze fixed on the distance. “He knew what he was doing. And he knew exactly which file to look for.”
Hector met her eyes. “This changes everything. We have direct proof. Physical and digital tampering. By Julian himself.”
The quiet determination in Hector’s voice was palpable. They had Julian. Now, they just needed to expose him.
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