Chapter 57 The Floor
Chapter 57 The Floor
"Plug it in anyway, Sarah," Mason said, stepping out from the camera shadows right behind his sister.
Sienna swung her head around, her jaw dropping as Mason pulled an identical black plastic USB drive out of his hoodie pocket and tossed it onto the glass anchor desk. The plastic stick skidded across the smooth surface, stopping right against the main presenter’s microphone stand.
"Mason, what are you doing?" Sienna hissed, her voice cracking as she grabbed his arm. "The family lawyers said if that file goes live, the university pulls our trust fund to pay the legal damages. You're destroying everything we have left."
"We don't have anything left, Sienna," Mason said flatly. He didn't pull his arm away, but his eyes stayed locked on the executive producer. "That drive doesn't contain leaked school records. It's a copy of my personal athletic medical files, which I have the legal right to release to the press at any time. The November 2023 lab swap is right there on my page."
The male news anchor at the desk picked up the drive, checked the silver connection pins, and looked up at the control booth window.
"The cease-and-desist only covers property stolen from the administration server, Sarah," the anchor said, his voice crisp and professional. "If the player turns over his own medical file, the university injunction is completely useless. We're legally clear."
The digital clock on the wall shifted to 06:58 AM. Two minutes left.
Sarah didn't hesitate. She snatched the drive from the anchor’s hand and lunged toward the glass control booth stairs. "Upload the file to the main graphics reel! Put the lab sheet images behind the opening anchor block! Move, move, move!"
Three technicians sprinted across the floor, yanking the heavy black cables away from our path as the overhead studio lights suddenly shifted from a dim gray to a blinding, hot white.
"Get the students off the floor," a stage manager shouted, waving his arms toward the exit tunnel. "Thirty seconds to air! Clear the set!"
Knox caught my arm, his thick fingers wrapping around my wrist to pull me behind the massive metal pedestal of camera three. Mason followed us, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face entirely blank as he watched the red digital countdown hit ten seconds.
Sienna stayed by the equipment cage. Her phone was still raised to her ear, but her arm had gone limp, her knuckles white against the case as she listened to her family lawyers realize they had lost the line.
06:59:55... 56... 57...
The red light on top of camera one turned a solid, glowing crimson.
"Good morning," the female anchor said, her face instantly shifting into a smooth, practiced smile as she looked straight into the lens. "We begin this morning with breaking news from the state university. Less than two hours before a scheduled board vote to suspend the varsity hockey program, new evidence has surfaced connecting senior administrators to a massive athletic fraud scheme."
The giant digital screen behind the desk flickered, filling the studio wall with the high-definition image of the November 2023 lab report. The red official stamp and the dean's signature were six feet tall, clear enough for every student on campus to read before their first class.
"The documents, provided directly by members of the varsity team, show a deliberate falsification of player medical records dating back three years," the male anchor continued, pointing a pen toward the screen. "Sources confirm the state police are currently executing a search warrant at the administration building."
I leaned my back against the cold metal casing of the camera pedestal, a long, ragged breath finally escaping my lungs. The sharp, stinging heat in my blistered palms didn't disappear, but the cold weight behind my ribs was entirely gone.
Knox stood right next to me, his shoulder pressing against mine in the dark studio shadows. He didn't look at the monitors, and he didn't look at the anchors. His blue eyes were fixed entirely on the silver thumb drive still clutched in his own fist—the one that had just cleared his brother's name on live television.
"It's over," I whispered, the sound of my voice swallowed by the anchor’s microphone line.
Knox slowly lowered his hand, jamming the plastic stick deep into his jacket pocket. He turned his head to look down at me, his jaw finally loosening from the tight, hard lock he had carried since the basement cellar.
"The legal fight is over, Lila," Knox whispered back, his voice dropping into that low, tense register as the studio doors behind us began to rattle with the sound of approaching campus reporters. "But the dean hasn't signed those withdrawal papers yet. When we walk out those front doors, every camera in this city is going to be in our faces."