Chapter 10 - The Locker
The clock on the Civic’s dash read 3:42 AM.
The First National Bank of Oakridge was an old brick building downtown that had gone bankrupt three years ago, leaving only the automated safety deposit vault active in the basement.
Mark parked the stolen car two blocks down, behind an abandoned diner. His knees were shaking so hard he had to use both hands to pull himself out of the seat.
He slipped through the side entrance of the bank vault, his wet boots squeaking softly against the linoleum. The place smelled of ozone and damp basement concrete.
Locker 408 was tucked into the bottom row, near the drain.
Mark dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he shoved the key into the brass lock. It turned with a heavy, satisfying click.
He pulled the metal drawer out and carried it to the small examination desk under the fluorescent tube.
Inside was no cash. No drugs. No black ledger.
Just a portable hard drive wrapped in a zipper plastic bag, and a hand-written note on a piece of official police notepad paper.
The handwriting was John’s.
Mark,
If you’re reading this, I’m dead, and you probably think Sam sold us out. She didn’t. I did. I took the money from Vance to keep your medical bills paid when your girl got sick three years ago. They own me, Mark. They own the whole town. Don't go to the state police. Go to the river.
May you like
Mark stood there, holding his dead brother's confession, as the lights in the basement suddenly went out.
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