Chapter 46 - Thomas Hale's Office
The corridor curved beneath the facility before ending at a thick oak door.
Unlike the reinforced steel entrances surrounding it, this door looked almost ordinary.
A brass nameplate remained attached.
Detective Thomas Hale
Marcus stopped walking.
"No..."
Rachel stepped beside him.
"This can't be real."
Kevin checked the construction date stamped into the nearby wall.
"This room wasn't part of the original facility."
Marcus slowly pushed the door open.
Inside, time appeared frozen.
A wooden desk.
Metal filing cabinets.
Stacks of investigation folders.
An old tape recorder.
Even a half-finished cup of coffee sat beside a yellow legal pad, as though someone had walked away only moments earlier.
Dust covered everything except one object.
A framed family photograph.
Marcus carefully picked it up.
It showed him as a small boy sitting on his father's shoulders.
His mother stood beside them, laughing.
He had never seen this picture before.
"It disappeared after Dad died."
Rachel quietly looked around the office.
"This wasn't rebuilt."
Marcus nodded.
"They preserved it."
Kevin opened one drawer.
Inside rested dozens of cassette tapes labeled only by dates.
Another drawer contained maps covered with handwritten notes.
Ortega walked toward the wall.
Pinned there was an enormous investigation board connected by hundreds of red strings.
Some names were familiar.
Daniel Whitmore.
Steven Marshall.
Judge Richard Lawson.
Elizabeth Ashcroft.
Others had never appeared before.
The board stretched farther than any they had assembled themselves.
Marcus looked closely.
"This wasn't finished."
"What makes you think that?" Ortega asked.
He pointed toward one empty space in the center.
Someone had removed a photograph.
Only four pinholes remained.
Below the empty space, Thomas had written a single sentence.
> When you discover who belongs here, you'll finally understand Evergreen.
Kevin suddenly called from the desk.
"Marcus..."
"What?"
"I found your father's journal."
Unlike the coded notebook from Room 214, this journal contained ordinary handwriting.
Marcus opened the final completed page.
The last sentence stopped him cold.
> If they preserve this office, it's because they want my son to find it.
Marcus slowly closed the journal.
His father had anticipated this room.
May you like
Decades before it happened.
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