Chapter 7 - Turning the Tide
They ran through the blinding mist, Hannah cradling the heavy ammunition box against her stomach as if it were a second child. Behind them, the baying of the security hounds grew louder, closer, the sounds tearing through the dead forest like chainsaw blades.
Marcus knew the terrain. Instead of heading back toward the fence where they had entered, he guided Hannah down a narrow rocky creek bed where the flowing, chemical-tainted water would mask their scent from the tracking dogs.
They scrambled out of the creek half a mile downstream, bursting through a thick patch of briars onto a deserted county road just as the first pale light of dawn broke through the clouds. Marcus’s old pickup truck was parked in a hidden turn-off beneath a collapsed billboard.
They threw themselves into the cab, Marcus slamming the vehicle into gear and tearing down the empty asphalt just as a white security vehicle with flashing amber lights rounded the far curve of the highway.
By noon, they were back at the cabin.
Rebecca looked up from her laptop as Hannah slammed the ammunition box onto the wooden table. When Hannah pulled out the leather journal and read Caleb’s final words aloud, a profound silence fell over the small room.
Diane sank into a chair, her hands trembling as she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. "He didn't do it," she whispered, her voice filled with a decade's worth of shed grief. "My Frank... he didn't kill that boy."
"No, Mom," Hannah said, kneeling beside her and holding her hands. "He tried to save him. And now we're going to save him."
"We have everything we need now," Rebecca said, her eyes bright with a dangerous, professional fire as she scanned the lab reports from the box. "This isn't just corporate negligence anymore. This is first-degree murder, kidnapping, obstruction of justice, and a decade-long federal cover-up. But we still can't go to the local authorities. Hayes has the county sheriff in his pocket."
"Then we don't go to the authorities," Hannah said, her voice dead calm. She looked over at Owen, who was standing by the window, watching the rain hit the glass. "We go to the public. Rebecca, can you set up a live stream that can't be taken down?"
Rebecca leaned back, a slow, grim smile spreading across her face. "I have a friend who runs a decentralized media network based out of Canada. They use peer-to-peer distribution. Once the stream starts, every viewer becomes a host. Hayes’s lawyers could sue the entire internet and they still wouldn't be able to wipe the broadcast. But we need a platform. We need a moment that will force the national news to pay attention."
"Tomorrow is the annual Silver Creek Community Gala," Diane said suddenly, her voice steady and clear. "Victor Hayes hosts it every year at the Albany Capital Center. All the state politicians go. The governor usually makes an appearance. They give out awards for 'Corporate Citizenship'."
Hannah stood up, her jaw set. "Then that's where we're going to give our report."
"It’s suicide, Hannah," Marcus warned. "Hayes will have private security at every door. They'll scan IDs. They'll have police officers on the perimeter. You won't even make it past the lobby."
"They won't be looking for an old warehouse worker's wife and daughter," Hannah said. "They're looking for a fugitive in the woods. We're going to walk right through the front door."
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She walked over to Owen, kneeling down so she was at eye level with her son. "Owen, tomorrow is going to be a very important day. We're going to tell the world who your father was. Are you scared?"
Owen looked at her with his deep, serious eyes. He reached out and touched the silver USB drive that hung from her neck. "Dad wasn't scared when he went into the woods. I'm not scared either."
