Someone was trying to force the heavy metal door open from the outside.

The scraping sound against the metal door grew louder.

It sounded like a crowbar dragging across steel.

My father reached out and pulled me behind his shoulder.

His grip on my arm was tight and warm.

“Stay close to me, Sophie,” he whispered.

The red strobe light flashed, painting his face in a sudden, harsh crimson.

In the three seconds of darkness that followed, I heard Martin scrambling on the linoleum floor.

He was reaching for the leather bag.

“Do not touch that, Martin,” my father said.

His voice was deeper than usual, carrying the authority of the man who had built this entire company.

Martin gasped as he pulled the bag toward his chest.

“You can’t stop me, Daniel,” Martin said, his voice shaking.

“I have a buyer waiting for these files.”

“Vanguard won’t touch stolen intellectual property,” my father said.

“They will if they don’t know it’s stolen,” Martin muttered.

He stood up, clutching the heavy bag against his ribs.

The red light flashed again, catching the sweat shining on Martin’s forehead.