Chapter 6: Breaking the Code

I slowed, scanning for exits. My hand slipped into my pocket, fingers curling around my keys like brass knuckles.

I tensed, right hand in my pocket, ready for anything as I walked closer.

The tension was thick enough to cut. My heart thudded in my chest.

But before I could move, the figure stepped forward.

He moved out of the shadows, face half-lit by the flickering hallway bulb.

It was Joel Delaney.

He looked rough—bandaged, bruised, but defiant. I couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted.

“Didn’t get enough yesterday?” I sneered.

My voice was low, but inside I was rattled. He shouldn’t have been able to find me.

He stared at me. “Except for your eyes, you don’t look like the old Travis at all.”

His voice was calm, almost friendly. That made me nervous.

“What did you say?” My voice snapped, sharp.

He smiled, a slow, knowing grin. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He smirked, like we were old friends.

He was pushing my buttons. I hesitated, then jerked my chin toward the door.

After a pause, I let him in.

The air inside was thick with the smell of old Domino’s boxes and takeout containers from Panda Express. I cleared a spot on the couch, feeling a little embarrassed by the mess.

The mess inside was embarrassing—soggy mac and cheese, the air thick with greasy takeout, a sharp contrast to Delaney’s pressed suit.

He looked around, nose wrinkling, but didn’t comment. The white bandage on his head was a reminder of our last encounter.

But that bandage was poetic justice—yesterday’s handiwork. His left eye was cloudy, probably permanently damaged.

He sat carefully, wincing. For a second, guilt pricked me. Then I remembered why he was here.

“What did you mean earlier?” I asked, voice steady, nerves jangling beneath the surface.

He tossed me a USB drive. “See for yourself.”

He leaned back, arms folded, eyes never leaving my face. I plugged it into my laptop, hands suddenly clammy.

My heart skipped a beat. This was the birthday gift I’d once given my dad.

I recognized the cheap plastic casing, the faded sticker. I’d picked it out myself, years ago.

Plugging it in, I found a single file: a video Dad had recorded.

The file was dated eight months ago. I clicked play, breath held.

In it, he looked rough—unshaven, eyes red, exhausted.

He sat in his old La-Z-Boy, the one with the busted spring. He looked straight at the camera, voice raw.

He recounted chasing a trafficker who escaped, but he’d noticed the guy’s clothes matched Fairmont uniforms.

He paused, rubbing his face. “Thought I was seeing things, but the logo was clear as day.”

Looking back, all sorts of details and coincidences pointed to the company.

He listed them—delivery vans, security badges, payroll records. He’d connected the dots, even if no one else would.

He suspected someone at Fairmont was behind it, with Evan Miller as the prime suspect.

He said Evan’s name with a bitterness I’d never heard before. “If I disappear, start with him.”

But the investigation went nowhere—almost all evidence was gone.

He looked defeated, but determined. “They’re cleaning up. If you get this, I’m probably already gone.”

He’d gone to the police, but with so little to go on, and Fairmont’s influence, nothing happened.

He laughed bitterly. “Turns out, justice has a price tag in this town.”

At the end, Dad said he hoped Joel would write an exposé on the Daltons and force police action.

He looked into the camera, eyes blazing. “If you’re watching this, Joel, don’t give up. And Travis—don’t blame yourself.”