Chapter 54 The Tunnel

Chapter 54 The Tunnel
"Don't move another inch, Knox," Miller said, stepping out from the shadow of the equipment cage with his hands slammed flat against the green metal fence.
The loading dock hallway was dark, lit only by the blinking red emergency lights on the ceiling. Behind Miller, two older men in long wool coats stopped under the exit sign. One of the lawyers held an iPad showing the live security feed of the rink corridors. Coach Foley stood his ground in front of the open vault door, his shoulders completely rigid.
"Step aside, Miller," Knox said, his voice dropping into a quiet, flat rasp. He didn't lift the tire iron, but his knuckles were pale around the handle as his boots crunched on the grit floor. "Your board lawyers are here to scrub the compliance files before the press conference tomorrow. Ask them about the November 2023 lab swap."
The tallest lawyer stepped into the gap, his leather gloves tightening around a black briefcase. "Mr. Ryder, you are currently under administrative suspension. Any digital or physical data you remove from this archive will result in an immediate criminal arrest."
"The campus guards are already coming down the ramp, Knox," Miller said, taking a step closer. His face looked tight under the red light, his eyes moving to the phone clutched in my bandaged hand. "The dean promised that if we give them whatever you just took from that cabinet, the Friday game stays on the schedule. Don't do this to the team."
"They forged your brother's signature, Miller," I said, stepping up next to Knox. I flipped my phone screen around, thrusting the bright high-definition photo of the lab sheet right in front of the captain's face. "Look at the red medical stamp. They used my dad's stolen login to frame Knox's brother three years ago. They'll do the exact same thing to you the second your knee blows out and the funding dries up."
Miller stared at the image on the glass. His jaw went slack, his eyes scanning the original initials and the typed-over text at the bottom of the page. He turned his head slowly, looking at the tall lawyer who was already tapping his phone screen.
"Is this sheet real?" Miller asked, his voice dropping into a hard, dangerous whisper.
"The student is displaying unverified files to disrupt a legal compliance review," the lawyer said quickly, backing away toward the exit stairs. "Miller, secure the drive. Now."
"You knew about this the whole time," Miller said, turning his back on the lawyer. He didn't step back. Instead, he planted his heavy boots right in the center of the narrow corridor, his massive padded shoulders completely blocking the path behind him. "You told the seniors this was just a contract dispute with Richard. You didn't say the administration threw a player under the bus."
A loud, mechanical alarm started to buzz from the end of the tunnel, the noise echoing off the concrete walls. The sound of heavy security boots hit the stairs at the far end of the facility.
Knox didn't waste another second. He grabbed my wrist, pulling me past Foley toward the opposite exit door that led directly onto the ice.
"Miller, hold that door handle!" Knox shouted over the roar of the siren.
Miller didn't look back. He threw his weight against the heavy steel frame of the corridor fence, locking his arm through the latch just as the first campus guard rounded the corner.
"The practice rink lock is clear!" Foley yelled from behind us, throwing a silver master key across the floorboards. The metal slid across the concrete, stopping right at Knox’s boot.
Knox scooped up the key without breaking his stride, jammed it into the brass lock of the heavy double doors, and yanked them open. A wave of freezing, damp air hit our faces as we broke through the frame into the dark, empty arena.
The sheet of ice below us looked like gray glass in the dim lighting, completely silent except for the echoing vibration of the alarm behind the walls.
"The back exit is behind the Zamboni garage," I whispered, my breathing shallow as my boots hit the concrete steps of the bleachers.
Knox kept his grip tight on my arm, his eyes locked on the exit sign across the dark rink. "We're not going to the car, Lila. They'll have the front gates blocked."
"Then where are we going?"
Knox stopped at the bottom rail of the bleachers, looking down at the silver thumb drive clutched in his fist.
"To the local television station downtown," Knox whispered, his jaw locked tight as the heavy doors behind us began to rattle. "We're letting the league commissioner watch the morning news."