Slipping past the dozing security guard had been surprisingly easy. A temporary ID, 'borrowed' from an absent intern's desk, had granted Clara access to the lower levels of Vance Holdings. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Every step echoed loudly in the deserted corridor, bouncing off polished concrete walls. Cool air, thick with the scent of old paper and dust, pricked her skin. Finding the restricted archives was another hurdle. She remembered snippets of office gossip, hushed warnings about the 'Vault' – a place few dared to enter. Eventually, a heavy steel door, marked only with a faded 'AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY' sign, appeared. Her fingers trembled as she swiped the pilfered card. A soft, electronic click. The heavy door groaned open, revealing absolute darkness. Pushing it wider, Clara stepped inside. She fumbled for her phone, activating its flashlight, and swept the beam across towering shelves. Rows upon rows of files, binders, and sealed boxes stretched into the gloom. Decades of Vance Holdings' history, secrets, and forgotten projects lay dormant here. She needed Thorne’s ‘Legacy’ project files. Finch's involvement, his nervous tells yesterday, pointed to a cover-up. Scanning the labels, her eyes darted from 'Vance Tower Design, 2018' to 'Project Phoenix, Initial Bid'. This was like searching for a needle in a haystack made of other needles. Minutes stretched into an eternity. Sweat trickled down her spine despite the cool air. Each rustle of paper, each creak of the old shelves, made her jump. Paranoia was a cold hand gripping her throat. Finally, a section dedicated to 'Major Architectural Projects, 2019-2021' came into view. Hope flared. Among the countless binders, a faded spine read: 'Project Legacy – Final Proposal & Personnel'. Her breath hitched. This was it. This was Thorne's signature project, the one that had elevated him to his current status. Pulling the thick binder, she laid it carefully on a nearby dusty table. The binding cracked as she opened it. Page after page detailed design specs, financial projections, client communications. All standard. She flipped faster. Then, a section labeled 'Design Team Contributors'. Her eyes landed on familiar names. Thorne, of course. Then Marcus Finch, listed as 'Senior Design Assistant'. Her gaze sharpened. A small, handwritten note in the margin next to Finch's name caught her attention. Barely legible, scribbled in a hurried hand:

Chapter 17: Close Call in the Archives