Chapter 45 The Race to Midnight

Chapter 45 The Race to Midnight
Richard's phone dropped onto the concrete floor. The screen cracked into a web of bright white lines. Coach Foley's voice cut off right away, leaving only the sound of Richard's heavy, uneven breathing in the dark basement.
He stared at the broken glass at his feet, his hands shaking at his sides. The total control he had carried down the cellar stairs was gone. His own son had broken the family rules. Mason had thrown away his own first-round draft spot just to pull his father down into the light.
"He's lying," Richard whispered, his voice cracking as he looked up from the floor. He took a clumsy step toward the stairs, his expensive shoes slipping on the loose papers. "Mason wouldn't do that. He knows what that contract is worth."
"He knows what you're worth, Shaw," Knox said.
He didn't wait for Richard to answer. Knox stepped out from the shadow of the water heater, moving past the desk in two big steps. He didn't lift the tire iron. He didn't need to. He took the taped flash drive right out of my hand, his fingers hot and steady against my freezing skin.
"Lila, grab the backpack," Knox said, his blue eyes locking onto the basement door. "We have exactly thirty-eight minutes to get to the downtown registry office before the server locks."
I scooped my canvas bag off the floor, throwing the straps over my shoulders as Knox grabbed my elbow, pulling me toward the dark concrete stairs.
Richard didn't try to block our path. He stood frozen near the bottom step, his face looking hollow and gray under the dim light of his dropped flashlight. His business empire, his control over the university team, and his hold on our house had completely disappeared in a single phone call.
We ran out through the broken storm doors into the freezing night air. The winter wind hit my face like wet glass, ripping through my hair as we ran across the dark grass toward Mason's old car.
Knox shoved me into the passenger seat, jumped behind the wheel, and started the engine. The starter gave a loud, metallic scream before the motor roared to life. He didn't smooth out the acceleration. He slammed the car into drive, the rear tires spinning against the slushy curb before catching the road with a loud screech.
"The downtown registry office is behind the old library," I said, my fingers shaking as I opened the map on my phone. The blue screen lit up the tight inside of the car. "The highway is clear, but the street construction near the arena is blocking the main turn."
"We're not taking the main turn," Knox said flatly.
He kept his eyes glued to the dark road, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He drove with a scary, focused energy, weaving the old car through the quiet neighborhood streets before hitting the entrance ramp to the highway.
The clock on the dashboard changed to 11:32 PM.
Twenty-eight minutes left.
"If the central office processes the high school timestamp, the copyright hold is completely gone," I told him, looking at the tiny plastic drive clutched tightly in his right hand. The black stick tape was rough against his skin. "But Foley said the compliance officer already left the arena building. Who is going to take the file at the main desk?"
"Mason is waiting inside the lobby with the night supervisor," Knox said, his voice a low, rough rasp. He pushed his foot down on the pedal, pushing the old car past the speed limit as the bright lights of the downtown buildings began to appear through the freezing winter fog. "He didn't just withdraw his name to start an audit, Lila. He did it to lock the doors open until we got there."
My heart gave a heavy, aching thump against my ribs. Mason had spent three years looking right through me to keep the peace in his father's house. He had been the golden boy, the safe player, the good son. But when the ice finally broke, he had chosen to be a brother.
The car tore down the exit ramp, the brakes groaning loudly as Knox swung the vehicle around a row of orange construction barrels.
The downtown registry building was a huge, modern block of dark glass and grey stone. The parking lot was completely empty, except for a single campus security car idling near the curb with its roof lights turned off.
Knox turned off the engine before the car had even fully stopped rolling into the slot.
We threw the doors open, our boots hitting the icy pavement in a fast sprint toward the heavy glass entrance. The main lobby was dark, but through the glass windows, I could see two figures standing near the security gates.
Mason pushed the heavy glass door open from the inside, the cold air rushing past him as he caught Knox by the shoulder.
"The registry officer is at the third computer," Mason said quickly, his breathing shallow under his torn hockey jacket. His face looked tired, but his eyes were completely clear. "The university legal team is already calling the landline. They're trying to say the flash drive is stolen school property."
"It isn't school property," I said, stepping past them to set my laptop down right on the granite security counter. "It's my father's drive."
A middle-aged man in a blue league blazer stepped out from the glass office behind the desk, a black tablet clutched in his hand. He looked at the clock on the wall, which was currently ticking toward 11:48 PM.
Twelve minutes left.
"Lila Bennett?" the officer asked, his voice crisp and completely professional.
"Yes," I said, my fingers peeling the sticky black hockey tape off the small plastic rectangle. I slid the drive across the smooth stone counter. "This is the original source files from October 2023. The timestamp matches the files on my father's old computer."
The officer picked up the drive, checked the small silver points before sliding it into the side of his master computer.
The screen behind the counter instantly filled with rows of fast-scrolling green code. The system began to check the files, a small progress wheel spinning in the center of the display.
System Authorization Pending: Verification Level 1...
Verification Level 2...
A sharp, loud buzz cut through the quiet lobby. The landline phone on the desk began to ring, the red light flashing in a fast, mechanical rhythm.
The officer didn't answer it. He kept his eyes locked on the monitor, his fingers hovering over the manual approve button.
"The university board is officially asking to stop the contract processing," the officer said flatly, looking up at Knox. "They are citing an unresolved dispute regarding who wrote it."
"The person who wrote it is standing right in front of you," Knox said, his voice dropping into that quiet, deep tone that made the entire room feel smaller. He stepped up to the counter, his massive frame crowding the space as he leaned his palms against the granite. "And the files on that computer prove the claim was made up twelve hours ago."
The progress wheel on the monitor stopped spinning.
A single line of blue text flashed across the center of the glass screen: Digital Signature Authenticated. Copyright Dispute Dismissed. Entry-Level Eligibility Restored for Player #84, Ryder.
The officer tapped the approve button, and the landline phone instantly stopped ringing, the silence that followed feeling heavier than the noise.
Knox didn't look at the screen. He turned around slowly, his blue eyes fixing directly on my face. The dark, survivalist look he had carried since the basement was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, slow quiet that made my throat lock up completely.
He reached out, his large, rough hand wrapping around my waist to pull me against his chest, his mouth finding mine before Mason or the officer could even step away from the counter.
The kiss was deep, slow, and totally final. He tasted like the freezing winter wind and the clean scent of his skin, his lips warm and steady as he held me against the solid, grounding weight of his body. There were no more deadlines. There were no more secrets hidden in folder files.
When he finally broke the kiss, he didn't let go of my waist. He kept his arm tight around me, his eyes shifting over to where Mason was standing near the glass doors.
Mason gave us a small, quiet nod, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he turned to look out at the empty, dark streets of the city.
"Foley’s waiting at the office downtown," Mason said, his voice rough from the cold. "He has the real contract ready for the morning press release."
Knox squeezed my fingers tightly, his chin resting against the top of my head as the clock on the wall finally changed to 12:00 AM.
"Let him wait," Knox whispered against my hair, his smile warm and real against my skin. "We have all night."