Chapter 2 - The Meteorite Fragment
We retreated to the quiet, dimly lit corridor just outside the grand ballroom, near the service elevators. Bear—no, wait, Lily clutched her beaded bag like a lifeline against her chest as Sloan carefully examined the small object she had dropped earlier.
It wasn't a space rock at all.
Under the soft wall-sconce light, the metallic grey fragment revealed itself to be a heavily weathered, high-grade titanium micro-drive, sheared off and disguised to look like a rough geological sample. Laser-etched along its chipped edge was a serial number: LMC-9982-FX.
"Where did you find this, Lily?" Sloan asked, signing deliberately so my niece could read every precise movement of her hands.
Lily looked up at me, seeking permission, before signing back: "In the garden behind the old Lincoln wing. The men in black coats dropped it when they were moving boxes last week. Daddy told me to keep safe things safe."
My breath hitched. Lily’s father—my late brother-in-law, whose tragic passing had left her in my temporary custody—had been the lead structural engineer for the Lumis-Lincoln hospital expansion project before he died under suspicious circumstances.
"This isn't just a flash drive," Sloan explained, looking up at me with grave concern in her eyes. "This drive contains the internal accounting logs of the pediatric oncology ward expansion. The project that was supposed to receive forty million dollars in state grants."
"And where did that money go?" I asked, the cold realization beginning to settle over my chest.
"Nowhere," Sloan said grimly. "It vanished. Along with three dissenting whistleblowers over the last four years. The official reports claimed they resigned and moved out of state. But my division has been tracking a pattern. Every time a doctor or engineer started asking questions about where the charity funds were disappearing, they were silenced—or discredited."
"And Vivien Ashworth Pell sits at the head of both the charity board and the hospital oversight committee," I added, the puzzle pieces snapping together with terrifying clarity.
Across the corridor, the heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open. Laughter and applause spilled out as the gala's keynote presentation began. Through the glass panes, we could see Vivien standing at the podium, adjusting the microphone, smiling radiantly as she prepared to announce the evening's grand total donation.
"She’s about to announce the new funding allocation," Sloan said urgently. "If she locks down the digital ledger tonight using the gala's master terminal, every trace of the embezzled funds will be permanently scrubbed, and the files on this drive will self-destruct via remote encryption."
"Not if we reach the control room first," I said, my jaw tightening.
I looked down at Lily. Her dark, intelligent eyes showed no fear—only a quiet, fierce determination that mirrored her mother’s courage. She signed without hesitation: "Go. I will help. I see everything."
"No," I told her, kneeling down. "It's too dangerous to stay here alone. You're coming with us."
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Before we could move toward the service stairs, heavy footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor. Two of Vivien’s private security guards—massive men in dark suits who definitely didn't belong to the hotel staff—rounded the corner, blocking our only exit.
"Mr. Vance," one of them rasped, his hand resting ominously inside his jacket. "Mrs. Pell requests your presence back in the ballroom. Immediately."
