“We go to the restaurant,” I said.

The driver shifted the SUV into gear, and we crawled out into the whiteout conditions of the city streets.

The streetlamps were dim halos in the swirling snow.

Nobody spoke as we navigated the icy avenues, the silence inside the car heavy with anticipation.

I looked down at the brass keys in my hand, their edges cutting into my palm.

My father had walked these same streets, probably carrying the same heavy secrets that were locked on those servers.

Twenty minutes later, the SUV pulled into the dark parking lot of the Crystal Oak.

The restaurant looked abandoned, its neon sign dark and covered in a layer of frost.

We got out of the vehicle, our boots sinking deep into the fresh snow.

I unlocked the side kitchen door, the lock turning with a heavy, metallic click.

The air inside the kitchen was freezing, smelling faintly of old vegetable oil and cold stainless steel.

I flipped the light switch, but nothing happened.

“The storm must have knocked out the main line,” Charles said, pulling a small flashlight from his pocket.