Part 18
A sharp beep woke her,
echoing through the quiet cabin,
startling her awake.
Julian was staring at the screen,
his face pale,
illuminated by the harsh light.
Eleanor rushed over,
rubbing her eyes,
and looked at the monitor.
The files were open,
organized in neat folders,
labeled by country and year.
"It is a ledger," Julian said,
his voice hollow,
in disbelief.
"Not just money,
but people,
assets, politicians."
Eleanor scrolled down,
reading the names,
feeling a cold dread pool in her stomach.
"Elias Thorne is the central node," she confirmed,
pointing at a complex flow chart.
"He uses his charities to launder the money,
and buys influence,
across the globe."
Arthur leaned over her shoulder,
his eyes scanning the data.
"Look at this," Arthur pointed,
his finger shaking.
"He funded Ashcroft's defense,
funneled through a blind trust,
during the trial."
"He was protecting his investment,
making sure Ashcroft kept quiet," Eleanor deduced,
the pieces locking together.
"If we publish this ledger,
it will bring down half of Washington,
and dozens of corporations."
"Which is exactly why they will kill us,
before we can print a single word," Julian warned.
"We need a dead man's switch," she decided,
pacing the small room.
"We upload the files to a secure server,
set on a timer."
"If we don't reset it every twenty-four hours,
it blasts the data to every major news outlet,
worldwide."
Julian nodded,
agreeing with the strategy.
"I can set that up,
but I need a stable connection,
which we don't have here."
"We have to go back to the city," she realized,
hating the thought.
"No,
that is suicide," Arthur protested,
shaking his head violently.
"I am not going back there,
they are waiting for us."
"You can stay here,
Arthur,
we will go," Eleanor offered,
trying to be compassionate.
"If they catch you,
they will torture the location out of you,
and then they will come for me," he argued,
panic rising in his voice.
Julian stood up,
placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder,
firmly.
"We won't let them take us alive,
Arthur,
you have my word."
It was a grim promise,
but it was the only one he could make,
given the circumstances.
They packed the equipment,
wiped the cabin clean of fingerprints,
and prepared to leave.
The rain had stopped,
leaving a thick fog,
blanketing the mountain road.
They drove down in silence,
the weight of the USB drive,
feeling heavier than lead.
They were no longer just journalists,
they were soldiers,
in a war they never asked to fight.
The city lights appeared,
glowing through the mist,
like a warning beacon.
The final act was beginning,
May you like
and there was no turning back,
only forward into the fire.
