Chapter 6 - The Live Wire
"They heard him," Natalie said, her eyes wide as the rain plastered her hair to her forehead. "Mom, they heard the whole confession."
I nodded, my hands shaking so hard I nearly dropped the phone.
"Agent Reynolds?" I spoke into the receiver.
"We copy, Mrs. Whitaker," a crisp voice replied over the speaker. "We have units mobilizing to your residence now. Do not let him see you leave."
"We're in the driveway," I said. "But you can't just arrest him. He said he has a dead-man's switch for the filtration production order. If he doesn't check in, the flawed design goes live to the municipal plant."
There was a pause on the line.
"Mrs. Whitaker, we can't negotiate with a murder suspect over infrastructure."
"You don't understand," Dr. Miller leaned into the phone. "I know the system he's using. It's an automated server at his engineering firm. If it triggers, the factory starts milling the flawed gaskets by 6:00 AM. They'll be installed by noon."
"Can you shut it down?" the agent asked.
"I can't," Dr. Miller said. "But Ellen can."
I looked at the old professor. "I haven't coded or drafted in thirty-five years."
"You designed the original architecture," Dr. Miller said firmly. "The foundation of his firm's network is built on your old schematics. It's the same logic, just digitized. Natalie can help with the modern interface."
Natalie grabbed my hand. "We can do this, Mom. We have to go to his office."
"Units will intercept your husband at the house," Agent Reynolds said. "We will send a team to escort you to the engineering firm."
"No," I said, looking back at the house. The living room lights were on. Robert was pacing in front of the window. "If police show up here, he'll trigger it manually before they can breach the door. We have to shut down the server first."
We piled into Dr. Miller's sedan. The tires spun on the wet asphalt as we sped toward downtown.
Thirty-five years of playing the quiet wife. Thirty-five years of holding coats, cutting cakes, and smiling at his condescending jokes. He had stolen my career, my mother, and my voice.
Not tonight.
Robert’s firm occupied the top two floors of a sleek glass high-rise. I still had the emergency spouse keycard he’d given me years ago—"in case you ever need to drop off my dry cleaning," he’d joked.
The card clicked green.
The office was dark, lit only by the blinking lights of the server room at the end of the hall.
We burst through the glass doors. Natalie booted up the main terminal while I spread the old blueprints across the glass conference table.
"I'm in the main directory," Natalie said, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "But it's locked behind a master encryption. A biometric scan or a twelve-digit override."
I stared at the screen. Robert was arrogant, but he was also uncreative. He always used dates that mattered to him.
"Try his birthday and our anniversary," I said.
Natalie typed. Access Denied.
"Try the date the patent was filed," Dr. Miller suggested.
Access Denied.
Suddenly, the office phone on the desk rang.
The caller ID flashed: HOME.
Robert had realized we weren't in our beds.
Natalie froze.
I picked up the receiver.
"Hello, Robert," I said.
"You're in my office," his voice was cold, echoing slightly. He sounded out of breath. "I just got the security alert. Step away from the terminal, Ellen."
"Or what?" I challenged.
"Or I push the button on my phone right now," he said.
I heard the sound of sirens in the background of his call. The police were arriving at the house.
"You're surrounded, Robert," I said.
May you like
"It doesn't matter," he laughed, a frantic, unhinged sound. "The override code is the date your mother died. October 14th, 1987. Plus the time of death. You'll never guess the exact minute, Ellen. I watched the clock in the dashboard while she bled out."
And then, the line went dead.
