“The client list is on the cloud.”

“The buyer has the link.”

The heavy metal door behind Martin suddenly gave a loud screech.

The lock mechanism snapped with the sound of breaking glass.

The heavy door swung open an inch.

A sliver of bright light from the alleyway cut through the darkness.

A tall figure in a dark security uniform stood in the opening.

He was holding a crowbar in his gloved hand.

“Martin,” the man in the doorway said.

His voice was muffled by a black cloth mask over his mouth.

“Do you have the bag?” the man asked.

Martin took a step toward the door.

“I have it,” Martin said.

“Let’s go.”

My father moved quickly, stepping between Martin and the exit.

“You aren’t leaving with those blueprints,” my father said.

The masked man raised the crowbar.

“Get out of the way, old man,” the masked man said.

I grabbed my father’s sleeve, pulling him back.

“Dad, no,” I pleaded.

“He has a weapon.”

The masked man took a step into the archive room.

The cold night air from the Columbus alley rushed inside, smelling of wet asphalt and rain.