He wasn't watching the guards.
He was waiting.
A correctional officer approached.
“Reynolds. Stand up.”
Tank looked at him.
“What's happening?”
“Administrative escort.”
Tank smiled.
“That's interesting.”
“Get up.”
Tank stood slowly.
He was taller than the officer by several inches.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Warden's office.”
Tank looked toward the administration building.
Then he laughed.
“Something went wrong.”
The officer tightened his grip on the restraint chain.
“Move.”
Tank didn't move.
“Did Carter find him?”
The officer said nothing.
Tank's smile disappeared.
“Answer me.”
“Move.”
Tank looked around the yard.
Several inmates had stopped playing basketball.
They were watching him.
For years, Tank had controlled the yard through fear. Men avoided looking at him. Officers gave him space. Even the warden treated him with caution.
But now something was different.
His power depended on secrets.
And one of those secrets had just been exposed.
Tank leaned toward the officer.
“If you take me to Whitaker, tell him I want to see Cell 214.”
“That's not your decision.”
Tank's eyes hardened.
“Tell him.”
The officer pulled him forward.
As Tank was escorted away, another inmate approached the bench and picked up the basketball.
He turned it over in his hands.
A small piece of paper was taped beneath it.
He removed the paper and unfolded it.
There were only five words written inside.
THE ORIGINAL LEDGER IS UNDERGROUND.
The inmate looked toward the administration building.
Then he slipped the paper into his sleeve.
Chapter 18: The Underground Archive
Inside Cell 214, the intercom crackled again.
“Cell 214. Prepare for immediate transfer.”
Grant backed away from the door.
“They're coming.”
Carter looked around the room.
There was nowhere to hide.
“Where is the ledger?”
Grant stared at him.
“You don't understand. The ledger isn't just a list of transfers.”
“Then what is it?”
“It records every person who paid to make those transfers happen.”
“Names?”
“Names, dates, amounts, destinations. Everything.”
“Where is it?”
Grant hesitated.
Then he pointed toward the metal table.
“Look underneath.”
Carter crouched and examined the underside.
A small metal plate was attached beneath the table.
He pressed it.
Nothing happened.
Grant stepped forward and twisted one of the table legs.
A hidden compartment clicked open.
Inside was a folded piece of paper and a tiny brass key.
Carter removed both.
The paper contained a handwritten message:
The archive is beneath the old maintenance station. Access point B-7. The original ledger is inside.
Carter looked at Grant.
“Why didn't you give this to the authorities?”
Grant's expression darkened.
“Because the authorities are the ones who built the archive.”
Before Carter could respond, the cell door began to unlock.
Grant grabbed his wrist.
“Carter, there's something else.”
“What?”
“The ledger contains one name that nobody in Blackwood is supposed to know.”
“Whose?”
Grant looked toward the door.
“Your father's.”
Carter froze.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
“My father died twelve years ago.”
“I know.”
“He was a correctional officer.”
“I know that too.”
“He had nothing to do with this.”
Grant's eyes filled with something between regret and exhaustion.
“That's what I believed.”
The door opened.
Two armed officers entered.
“Step away from the prisoner!”
Carter stood slowly, keeping the folded paper hidden in his hand.
Grant raised both hands.
“Don't let them take me.”
One officer grabbed Grant's shoulder.
Carter stepped forward.
“Stop. I need authorization for this transfer.”
“Stand down.”
“Show me the order.”
The second officer raised his voice.
“Last warning.”
Grant suddenly shouted.
“YOUR FATHER DIDN'T DIE IN AN ACCIDENT!”
Carter turned sharply.
“What?”
Grant looked directly at him.
“He was killed because he discovered what was underneath this prison!”
The officers seized Grant.
Carter tried to move toward him, but one officer blocked his path.