Chapter 7: No Safe Distance

By midnight, Preston Research Institute was surrounded by private security vehicles.

Edmond transformed the building into a command center before the police cybercrime unit had even arrived.

Every access point was sealed. Every staff member was contacted. Every external drive and personal device connected to the network was catalogued.

Sheila stood inside the server room while Simon reconstructed the breach.

"They knew exactly where to look," he said.

Lines of code scrolled across three monitors.

"The archive was encrypted," Sheila replied.

"Not after they used York's administrative key."

York sat in a chair behind them, pale and exhausted. "I did not give anyone that key."

"Someone copied it," Simon said. "Probably weeks ago."

Edmond entered with Thurston.

"Voss is missing," he said.

Sheila turned. "Since when?"

"His assistant last saw him yesterday morning. His phone is off, and his home security system was disabled six hours ago."

"He ran," Simon said.

"Or someone removed him," Thurston replied.

York rubbed both hands over his face. "Why would Voss want our prototype?"

"He may not," Edmond said. "He may be working for someone who does."

Sheila studied the breach map. "The intruder copied the stabilization architecture but ignored our raw test data."

Simon frowned. "Which means they already understand the theory."

"Or they have their own incomplete version," she said.

York looked toward her. "The National Science Institute."

The same thought had reached her.

Years ago, York had left the National Science Institute after a bitter dispute over research ownership. He claimed a senior colleague had attempted to take control of his early stabilization work.

"Who was the colleague?" Edmond asked.

York hesitated.

"Dr. Adrian Vale."

Thurston searched the name on his tablet. "Vale currently directs advanced systems research at the National Science Institute."

"And Martin Voss sits on their ethics board," Sheila said.

The pieces aligned too neatly.

Edmond looked at York. "Why was this not disclosed during due diligence?"

"Because it was an academic dispute twenty years ago."

"It has become industrial theft tonight."

York's face tightened. "I did not know Vale was still pursuing the work."

Sheila did.

Not as a certainty, but as a suspicion she had buried.

Six months earlier, an anonymous reviewer had requested unusually detailed information about their control architecture. Sheila had rejected the request and reported it to York.

He had dismissed it as routine competition.

"There was an inquiry," she said.

York looked at her.

"In February. Someone requested our unpublished switching model."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Edmond asked.

"Because you did not exist in our project in February."

"You should have documented it."

"I did."

She opened an archived folder and displayed the correspondence.

The request had come through a shell foundation.

Thurston traced the registration within minutes.

"The foundation shares legal counsel with a National Science Institute subsidiary."

Simon leaned back. "So Vale has been watching us."

Edmond's phone rang.

He answered, listened, and his face changed.

"Where?"

A pause.

"Do not approach him. Send me the location."

He ended the call.

"Voss's car was found near the eastern freight terminal."

"Was he inside?" Sheila asked.

"No. But security footage shows him entering warehouse fourteen two hours ago."

"Alone?"

"No. Adrian Vale entered ten minutes later."

Sheila reached for her coat.

Edmond stepped in front of her. "You're staying here."

"Those files belong to us."

"And you are the only person who can confirm whether what they stole is complete. That makes you a target."

"Which is exactly why I need to go."

"No."

The command reignited every old instinct in her.

"You don't get to decide for me."

"I am trying to keep you alive."

"Your mother said the same thing when she controlled both of us."

The words struck hard.

Edmond's expression closed.

Sheila regretted them immediately, but she did not take them back.

"Fine," he said. "You come with me, you follow every instruction, and you do not leave my sight."

"I can agree to the last part."

"Sheila."

"I'm coming."

Thurston muttered something under his breath that sounded like a prayer for patience.

Twenty minutes later, they reached the eastern freight terminal.

Rain swept across the empty industrial roads. Police units waited two blocks away while Edmond's security team monitored the warehouse through thermal cameras.

"Two heat signatures inside," the security chief reported. "One may be injured or restrained."

"Voss," Sheila said.

The team entered through the side access.

Edmond kept Sheila behind him as they moved through rows of abandoned shipping containers.

Voices carried from the far office.

"You said the system was stable," a man snapped.

Another voice answered weakly, "I said the files were complete. I never said the prototype worked."

Voss.

Edmond signaled to security.

They moved forward.

The office door burst open.

Adrian Vale stood beside a portable server unit, one hand gripping a pistol. Martin Voss sat bound to a chair, blood darkening his collar.

Vale swung the weapon toward the doorway.

Edmond pushed Sheila behind a steel support beam as security shouted commands.

"Drop it!"

Vale backed toward the server. "You have no idea what Preston stole from me."

York had not come, but Sheila heard his old argument in Vale's rage.

"The work was his," she called from behind cover.

"The theory was mine!" Vale shouted. "He abandoned the institute and took twenty years of public research with him."

"Then challenge the patents in court."

"Court?" Vale laughed. "The Halley family buys courts."

His attention shifted toward Edmond.

That instant was enough.

Security rushed him.

A shot cracked through the warehouse.

Sheila felt Edmond jerk beside her.

For one terrible second, she thought he had been hit.

Then she saw the bullet strike the steel column inches from his shoulder.

Vale was forced to the ground. The weapon skidded across the concrete.

Police entered seconds later.

Voss was freed and treated by paramedics. The portable server was secured before its contents could be erased.

Only when the danger had passed did Sheila realize her hands were shaking.

Edmond turned toward her. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

He checked her face, her arms, her hands, as though he did not trust the answer.

"You almost got shot," she whispered.

"So did you."

"You stepped in front of me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

The question escaped before she could stop it.

Edmond stared at her, rainwater running from his hair onto his collar.

"Because there is no version of my life in which I watch you die."

The warehouse noise faded around her.

Sheila's carefully maintained distance collapsed under the simple truth in his voice.

"Edmond—"

"Don't answer now."

He stepped back, forcing space between them.

"You were right. I cannot demand that you trust me because I finally learned the truth. I cannot erase what happened. But I am done pretending I feel nothing."

Sheila's throat tightened.

He looked toward the police surrounding Vale.

"I stayed away because I hated what loving you had done to me."

Then his eyes returned to hers.

"But I never learned how to stop."

Sirens flashed blue and red across the wet concrete.

Sheila stood beneath them, unable to offer him another lie.