Chapter 361 - 361: Lockbox Hunt, Stakeout

Connor pulled his wool collar over his chin, stepping carefully around a pile of fractured concrete blocks. While the rain had ceased, a dark sludge still covered the cracked pavement of the lower district, making every step treacherous.

Leo walked beside him, holding a paper map under his arm to navigate the ruined alleys.

Fortunately, they had avoided the security patrols so far. Ophelia paused near the corner of a collapsed warehouse, her eyes scanning the dark street to ensure they had not attracted the municipal security drones patrolling the upper grids.

"The old Thorne estate is just two blocks south," Ophelia said, pointing toward a crumbling stone archway.

"We must move quickly, because if a patrol spots us in this sector, we will be forced to explain our presence to the High District inspectors," Connor replied, keeping his head down.

They hurried through the shadows, their shoes splashing in the cold puddles. Nonetheless, the structure before them was a shell of its former glory, the roof of the Thorne residence having fallen inward, leaving only three brick walls standing against the gray sky.

Suddenly, Leo pushed open a rotting wooden gate, the hinges groaning as they entered the ruined foyer. "The crawlspace should be beneath the floorboards in the rear study."

Connor navigated the debris, entering what remained of the back room. He knelt on the rotting cedar planks, prying a loose board upward until the damp soil beneath was exposed.

He slid his shoulders through the narrow opening, crawling into the dark space. While his hands searched the dirt, his fingers brushed against cold metal. He gripped the handle of a rusted iron lockbox and dragged the solid container out into the dim light.

"You found it," Leo said, his eyes widening as Connor climbed out of the crawlspace.

"The latch is rusted shut, meaning we cannot open this here, so we need to take it back to Ilyas's basement," Connor noted, brushing the wet soil from the metal surface.

They wrapped the lockbox in a dry canvas sheet, securing it inside Connor's bag before slipping back out of the ruined estate.

An hour later, they gathered around an un-networked basement safehouse. Suddenly, Nelson used a pair of steel pliers to snap the rusted latch, and the metal lid popped open with a loud click.

Inside the box rested a collection of yellowed, brittle paper documents and a hand-annotated corporate ledger from 2024.

Ophelia carefully turned the brittle pages of the ledger, her fingers tracing the faded ink of the financial audits.

"Meridian Holdings authorized the transfers, routing payments to the families of every single missing student," Leo noted, leaning over the table.

"They paid for Lily Thorne's care plan, and they did the same for Marcus Thorne's parents to buy their silence," Lucy said, pointing to a highlighted row.

"But look at this entry, since Aether-Conglomerate has been routing a monthly payout to a nameless address in the High District," Connor pointed to a bold line at the very bottom of the ledger.

Nelson adjusted his glasses, examining the routing numbers. "The transaction remains active today, meaning the company is actively funding that household."

"And they have a team of corporate scouts stationed around the perimeter, matching a private penthouse near the northern ridge," Ilyas added, checking the offline municipal maps on the datapad.

"That is where the family of the thirtieth classmate lives, and the corporation is still watching her home," Connor realized, his gaze locking onto the nameless entry.

Connor carefully slid the leather-bound book back into the cardboard folder, shutting the steel drawer of the filing cabinet with a quiet click. He slipped his lockpick tool back into his breast pocket and turned toward the wooden table where the others waited.

Ophelia whispered, her fingers tracing the coordinates on the hand-drawn map: "We have the location, but we cannot use the smart-grid transit because the system will log our biometrics before we even reach the sector."

Leo gestured toward the window of the basement safehouse, proposing: "There is an abandoned transit tower situated directly opposite the penthouse, just across the sky-bridge, which was shut down decades ago and has no active digital connection."

Lucy said, adjusting her collar: "Ilyas can secure a vintage optical telescope from the shipping yard that operates purely on mechanical gears, totally free of any wireless chips that the client could track."

Evan added, explaining the plan: "Nelson and I will configure the dummy loops in our bedrooms to program our smart-devices to broadcast continuous, simulated learning activity to make it look like we are inside our homes studying."

The group split into separate parties, navigating the dark utility tunnels of the lower district to avoid the security checkpoints of the High District. They carried the mechanical telescope in a wooden crate, climbing the maintenance rungs of the abandoned transit tower with cautious steps.

The copper gears of the optical telescope groaned as Connor adjusted the primary focal dial. Dust swirled through the cracked window of the abandoned transit tower, lit only by the distant neon signs of the upper district. Leo leaned against a rusted metal support beam, checking the paper charts they had printed back at the safehouse.

Connor murmured, keeping his fingers on the brass focus wheel: "The light filtration is almost aligned, and if we can cut the glare from the orbital ceiling, we should get a clear view of the balcony."

Ophelia adjusted her collar, peering through a gap in the concrete wall: "Nelson, make sure the tripod is stable because the wind coming off the sky-bridge is getting stronger."

Nelson tightened a physical steel clamp on the base of the tripod, responding: "It will hold since I reinforced the joints with scrap iron from Ilyas's shipping yard."

Lucy noted, looking up from her binoculars as she rubbed her arms to ward off the chill: "The penthouse has been quiet for two hours, and no digital signals are escaping the structure, which confirms what Nelson found in the public registries."

Evan added, his fingers tracing a line on a hand-drawn map: "They blocked every wireless port on that floor, and the corporation is intentionally masking the entire flat from the local grid."

Ilyas adjusted the secondary lens filter, sliding the glass pane into the brass slot with a quiet click: "The guards on the terrace have changed their rotation, giving us a five-minute window before the next patrol walks the perimeter."

Connor peered through the eyepiece, his thumb rotating the gear until the blurry shape of the penthouse terrace snapped into focus. The garden was filled with genetically modified white roses that glowed under the artificial sky.

A middle aged woman sat in a wheelchair near the glass railing, her gaze fixed on the rotating stars above.

Connor whispered as his shoulders stiffened, watching her: "I see her sitting on the terrace."