The Eviction Notice

The cabin was buried deep in the Catskills, a small A-frame structure hidden by a dense curtain of pine trees. Mary had been thorough. The road leading up to it was unplowed, a natural deterrent to anyone without chains on their tires or a desperate reason to visit.

Claire, David, Aris, and Matthew huddled inside, the warmth of the wood stove a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. But the warmth didn't reach their bones.

Claire's phone buzzed.

She flinched. The burner phone she’d picked up in Zurich. Only Mary had the number.

She looked at the screen.

*Unknown Caller.*

She answered, her hand trembling.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Vance," a voice said. It was smooth, professional, and terrifyingly familiar. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."

The Syndicate.

"I don't know who you are," Claire said, her voice steady despite the fear clutching her chest.

"Oh, I think you do," the voice said. "Just as you know that the data you uploaded was encrypted. A dead man's switch within a dead man's switch. Arthur was nothing if not thorough."

Claire looked at Aris. He was at the small kitchen table, typing on the laptop. He shook his head. *Still locked.*

"What do you want?" Claire asked.

"The key," the voice said. "The physical key. The one Sarah Kovac had."

"We don't have it," Claire lied.

"Don't lie to me, Claire," the voice said, the tone hardening. "We tracked you to Zurich. We tracked you to the port. And now... we've tracked you here."

Claire looked out the window. The woods were dark, silent. But she knew they were out there. Watching. Waiting.

"You have ten minutes," the voice said. "Bring the key to the main road. Or we burn the cabin down with everyone inside."

The line went dead.

"They're here," Claire said, dropping the phone.

"How?" David asked. "We ditched the car. We hiked in."

"They have resources we can't even imagine," Aris said. "Satellites. Drones. Or maybe just good old-fashioned bribery."

He closed the laptop.

"We can't decrypt the files," he said. "Not without the master key."

"The key from Sarah's box," Claire said. She reached into her pocket and pulled it out. The heavy brass key stamped with *Room 404*.

"But that was for Thomas's room," David said.

"Was it?" Claire asked. "Or was that just what Arthur wanted us to think?"

She handed the key to Aris.

"Scan it," she said. "Look at the grooves. The indentations."

Aris held it up to the light. He pulled a magnifying glass from his bag—part of the surveillance kit from the barge.

"There are markings," he said. "Micro-etchings. Along the shaft."

He transcribed them onto a notepad. A series of numbers and letters.

*7F-3A-9C-1B-00.*

"It's a hex code," Aris said. "A decryption key."

He typed it into the laptop.

The screen flashed green.

*Decryption Complete.*

"We have it," Aris said. "We have the names. The accounts. The entire network."

"Upload it," David said. "Send it to everyone. The FBI. The CIA. The New York Times."

"I'm doing it," Aris said. "But the upload speed... we're on a satellite connection. It's going to take time."

"How much time?" Claire asked.

"Twenty minutes," Aris said. "Maybe thirty."

Claire looked at the clock on the wall. They had seven minutes left before the deadline.

"We have to hold them off," she said.

"With what?" David asked. "We left the heavy weapons in the car."

"We have the environment," Matthew said.

They all turned to look at him. He was sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket. His voice was quiet, raspy, but his eyes were clear. The vacancy was gone, replaced by a sharp, terrifying intelligence.

"Arthur taught me," Matthew said. "He taught me about defense. About sieges. About how to turn a house into a weapon."

He stood up. He walked to the kitchen and opened the cabinet under the sink.

"Bleach," he said. "Ammonia. Propane from the stove."

He looked at Claire.

"We don't need guns," he said. "We need chemistry."

Outside, the ten minutes were up.

A flare shot into the sky, illuminating the trees in a harsh red light.

"They're coming," David said, peering through the window.

"Let them come," Matthew said. He was mixing chemicals in a bucket, his movements precise, practiced. "They think they're hunting prey. But they're walking into a laboratory."

He looked at Claire.

"And I'm the scientist."

A shot rang out, shattering the front window. Glass sprayed across the floor.

"Get down!" David yelled.

But Claire didn't get down. She looked at her phone.

*Upload: 10%*

She looked at Matthew. He handed her a bottle filled with a cloudy liquid. A rag was stuffed into the top.

"Molotov?" she asked.

"Better," Matthew said. "Napalm."

He smiled. It was the same smile Thomas had worn before he died. The smile of a Vance.

"Shall we evict them?" he asked.