Chapter 56 The Broadcast

Chapter 56 The Broadcast

"The back elevator is badge-access only," Mason said, killing the engine in the dark alleyway behind the Channel 4 studio building.
Knox didn't answer. He threw his door open, his heavy boots hitting the wet pavement before Mason could even pull the keys out of the ignition. I scrambled out after him, clutching my heavy backpack against my chest with my wrapped forearms, the cold air biting into the raw skin under my gauze.
We ran up the concrete loading ramp toward the heavy metal security doors. A lone security guard in a gray uniform was sitting behind a glass partition, a half-empty paper cup of coffee in his hand. He blinked, his eyes widening as Knox slammed both palms flat against the reception counter.
"We have the physical evidence for the university sports fraud story," Knox said, his voice flat and dangerously loud. "Get the morning anchor on the line right now."
"Sir, you can't be back here," the guard said, his hand hovering over the black radio on his belt. "The morning show goes live in exactly twelve minutes. You need to go through the front lobby and schedule an interview with—"
"Look at the screen," I said, stepping up next to Knox.
I leaned my forearms against the glass, thrusting my phone right against the partition. The bright display showed the high-definition photo of the lab swap sheet, the red official stamp, and the dean's signature.
"The university board is voting to suspend the entire hockey team in ten minutes to cover up a forged drug test," I told him, keeping my eyes locked on his. "If you don't call the news desk, your station misses the biggest corporate scandal in the state."
The guard stared at the screen, his fingers freezing over his radio. He looked at my thick white bandages, then up at Knox’s dark, unyielding face. He reached for the desk landline, punched in a three-digit extension, and spoke quickly into the receiver.
"We have three students at the loading dock," the guard whispered, his eyes never leaving Knox's fist. "They have the original lab documents for the Ryder case. Yeah. The actual signatures."
He hung up, tapped a button on his console, and the heavy metal security gates clicked open with a loud, magnetic hiss.
"Studio B. Second floor," the guard said, pointing toward the service elevator. "The producer is coming down the hall now."
We didn't wait for the elevator. Knox led the way up the concrete exit stairs, his boots pounding against the steps until we broke through the heavy fire doors into the bustling hallway of the second floor. The corridor smelled like ozone and burnt hair spray. Production assistants with headsets were running back and forth between editing bays, their faces pale under the bright fluorescent lights.
A woman in a sharp navy blazer met us at the top of the stairs, a digital tablet clutched tightly against her ribs.
"I'm Sarah, the executive producer," she said quickly, her eyes dropping to the silver thumb drive clutched in Knox's right hand. "The guard said you have the master compliance files. Is the dean's digital signature verified?"
"It’s the original lab sheet from November 2023," Knox said, handing the plastic stick directly to her. "The metadata on that drive logs the exact time the administrator used the login credentials of a hospitalized professor to forge the test results."
Sarah snatched the drive, her fingers tapping her tablet furiously as she turned to walk down the hall. "We have eight minutes before the introductory block clears. If our legal team can't verify the hash code on the file before the teleprompter scrolls, we can't run it."
"The hash code matches the state archive database," I said, walking right beside her. "I checked it myself before the cellar fire last night. It's the exact same file."
We stepped through the heavy acoustic double doors into Studio B. The room was a massive, cavernous dark space filled with five giant cameras on rolling pedestals. In the center of the room, under a bright cone of white studio lights, two news anchors were sitting behind a curved glass desk, adjusting their clip-on microphones.
A red digital clock on the wall was ticking down. 06:54 AM.
"Sarah!" a technician shouted from the glass control booth above the floor. "We have a problem. The university legal team just sent a mass cease-and-desist to our corporate station email. They're threatening an immediate injunction if we air any leaked athletic department data."
Sarah stopped dead in her tracks, three feet from the anchor desk. She looked at the silver drive in her hand, then up at the control booth window.
"On what grounds?" she snapped.
"Corporate espionage and property theft," the technician shouted back through the intercom. "They're saying the students stole the source drive from a board member's private residence."
Sienna’s voice cut through the studio before Knox could answer.
She walked through the back technician entrance, her red varsity coat unzipped, her phone clutched in her hand. Her face was totally pale, but her eyes were sharp as she stopped right at the edge of the camera cables. Two studio guards followed her in, their hands resting loosely on their belts.
"The injunction is already signed by a state judge, Sarah," Sienna said, her voice a low, steady scrape that carried across the quiet studio floor. "If you plug that drive into your broadcast console, the university sues this network for defamation before the segment ends. Take the students out of the room."
Knox turned on his heel, his massive frame completely blocking her from the anchors. He took two steps until he was standing directly over her, his jaw clenching so hard a small muscle jumped near his ear.
"Your father is in a holding cell, Sienna," Knox hissed, his voice dropping into that quiet, terrifying register. "The injunction doesn't mean anything when the evidence is a criminal record."
"My father is gone, Knox," Sienna whispered back, her mouth twisting into a hard, small smile as she raised her phone. "But the dean isn't. He just sent the official text to the athletic board. If you don't hand that drive to the station guards right now, the university files the felony theft charges against Lila before the clock hits seven."