Chapter 6 - The Longest Night
Two weeks after taking control of the company, the reality of my new position settled in. Rebranding Mitchell Medical into Vale Health Systems was a monumental task, but the legal battle was far from over.
Jason was being held without bail at the Metropolitan Correctional Center downtown, deemed a flight risk due to his family’s international bank accounts. His trial date was set for early spring.
However, as the trial approached, the atmosphere in Chicago grew increasingly tense.
One rainy Tuesday night, I was working late in my new office on the fifty-fifth floor. The building was almost empty, save for the night security team and a few late-working engineers in the research department.
Noah knocked softly on my door and walked in, carrying two cups of coffee.
“You need to go home, Iris,” he said, setting a cup on my desk. “You’ve been working sixteen-hour days for two weeks straight.”
“I can’t stop now, Noah,” I said, rubbing my tired eyes. “We’re launching the updated Aster 2.0 system next month. I need to make sure the software integration is flawless.”
Before Noah could answer, the lights in the office flickered violently, then went out completely, plunging the floor into pitch-black darkness.
The emergency red backup lights kicked on a second later, casting a eerie glow across the room.
Noah immediately pulled out his phone. “That’s strange. The building has triple-redundant power grids.”
He tried to dial security, but his phone displayed No Service.
“Cell jammer,” Noah said quietly, his voice dropping. “Iris, stay behind the desk.”
My heart began to race. The memory of Laboratory Four—the dark room, the smell of gas, the locked doors—flooded back into my mind. My breathing became rapid, and my hand instinctively went to the scars on my left shoulder.
No, I told myself, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Not this time. I am not a victim in a trap anymore.
A muffled thump echoed from the hallway outside, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps on the marble floor.
Noah walked silently to the door and looked through the small glass window. “There are three men,” he whispered, turning back to me with a grave expression. “They aren’t wearing police uniforms. They’re armed.”
Dominic had finally made his move.
“Is there another way out?” Noah asked.
“The private executive elevator requires a biometric keycard,” I said, reaching into my desk drawer and pulling out my keycard and a heavy metallic prototype module from my workbench. “The stairwell door locks automatically from the outside during a security breach, but I have the master override code.”
“Go to the stairwell,” Noah insisted, picking up a heavy bronze award statuette from the table. “I’ll draw them toward the conference room.”
“No, Noah! I’m not leaving you!”
“Iris, listen to me!” Noah grabbed my shoulders, his eyes fierce. “They aren’t here for me. They’re here to destroy the master servers and make sure you don't survive to testify at Jason’s trial. You have to get the server backup drive to the authorities!”
Before I could answer, the glass panel in the main office door shattered violently.
“Iris!” a heavy voice boomed from the hallway. “Dominic sends his regards!”
Noah sprinted out of the office toward the left side of the floor, deliberately shouting to draw their attention. “Over here! She went toward the board room!”
Gunfire echoed down the long corridor—the muffled pop-pop-pop of suppressed weapons.
I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowed my fear, and bolted to the right, toward the private laboratory wing.
The emergency lights cast long, distorted shadows across the hallway. I reached the heavy reinforced door of Laboratory One, swiped my keycard, and punched in the six-digit code. The hydraulic lock clicked, and I slipped inside, slamming the door shut behind me.
I rushed to the main server rack in the back of the lab, pulled the emergency release lever, and grabbed the encrypted solid-state drive containing the core algorithms for Aster 2.0 and the backup financial evidence against Dominic Mitchell’s laundering operations.
Suddenly, the heavy glass window of the laboratory cracked as a bullet struck it.
Standing in the hallway was a tall man in a dark tactical jacket, holding a suppressed pistol. He looked through the glass, smiled, and began raising his weapon to shoot out the lock.
I didn't panic.
I looked at the control panel on the wall beside me—the very panel I had redesigned after the fire.
I reached out and hit the manual emergency fire suppression system.
Instantly, high-pressure nitrogen gas roared from the ceiling nozzles, filling the hallway outside with a dense, blinding cloud of displacement gas that instantly starved the area of oxygen and obscured all visibility.
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The man outside gasped, dropping his weapon as he stumbled backward, coughing violently and trying to find the exit in the thick, white fog.
I grabbed my bag, pushed open the rear emergency exit door that led directly to the reinforced service stairwell, and ran down the stairs as fast as my feet could carry me.
