The driver’s side door of the vehicle opened.

A figure stepped out into the rain, holding a large black umbrella.

Even through the grain of the security camera, I recognized the posture.

It was my father.

He wore his heavy wool overcoat, the collar turned up against the cold.

He didn’t run. He walked with a slow, deliberate stride toward the security office.

“He knows we’re here,” Madison whispered, her face pale.

“Does he have a key to this building?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “He has the master ring.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the encrypted flash drive I had taken from the house earlier.

It was a heavy, military-grade drive with a ruggedized aluminum casing.

I slotted it into the USB port next to Madison’s drive.

“We need to copy the raw directories,” I said. “Don’t wait for the decryption protocol.”

“If we don’t decrypt them now, we won’t be able to read them later,” Madison argued.

“We won’t have a later if we’re caught here,” I said.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, bypassing the security prompts.