Chapter 7 - The Ghost of Daniel Reed
Caleb tied the hitman securely to the heavy steel workbench in the garage below, gagging him with industrial duct tape, before slipping into the shadows of the city night.
He knew his apartment was compromised. Thorne's reach was closing in like a vice. But instead of running away, Caleb was moving directly toward the heart of the storm.
Twenty minutes later, Caleb stood before the abandoned, condemned building that used to be the Westbridge 5th Precinct. The city had shuttered it ten years ago after a major structural fire, leaving the charred brick skeleton boarded up and forgotten.
Caleb pried open a rusted basement window and slipped inside. The air smelled of mold, water damage, and scorched wood.
Flashlight beam slicing through the darkness, Caleb navigated the flooded corridors until he reached the old basement locker room. Rows of rusted green lockers stood like silent tombstones.
He counted down the row: 41... 42... 43... Locker #44.
Daniel Reed's nameplate was still barely visible beneath layers of soot.
Caleb took a crowbar from his backpack and wedged it into the rusted seam. With a sharp groan of tearing metal, the locker door popped open.
Inside, behind the false metal backing described in his father's journal, sat a heavy waterproof Pelican case.
Caleb opened the latches.
Inside lay two encrypted hard drives, stacks of original photographic surveillance showing Frank Thorne handing bribes to high-ranking city officials, and a pristine, sealed envelope addressed: *TO MY SON*.
With shaking hands, Caleb tore open the envelope:
*"Caleb, by the time you read this, the world will have told you many lies about how I lived and how I died. They will tell you justice is blind. But justice is only as strong as the people willing to bleed for it. What is inside this case is enough to tear down the entire Thorne empire, but it will paint a bullseye on your back. If you choose this path, you must be prepared to walk through hell. But remember: a man who fights for truth never walks alone."*
A sudden beam of light cut across the locker room.
"Hands where I can see them, kid!" a voice shouted from the doorway.
Caleb dropped low behind the row of lockers, drawing his sidearm. "Identify yourself!"
"I'm Federal Prosecutor Sarah Vance," the voice called out, shaking with raw emotional turmoil. "I'm with Detective Lucas Miller. Caleb... we're not here to hurt you. Marcus told us about the locker."
Caleb slowly peered around the steel frame. Sarah Vance stood in the doorway, wearing an FBI ballistic vest, flanked by Detective Miller with his weapon lowered.
"Your father is the Commissioner, Vance," Caleb said coldly. "Why shouldn't I believe you're working for Thorne?"
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Sarah lowered her head, tears shining in her eyes under the flashlight. "Because an hour ago, I confronted my father in his office. He tried to have me arrested to protect the ledger. I'm not here as the Commissioner's daughter, Caleb. I'm here as a prosecutor who wants to finish what your father started."
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