“This corridor,” I point to a section on the plans, then look up at the actual hallway stretching before us.“Is it shorter than shown?”
Adrien frowns, moving closer to look at the blueprints.“The plans are from the original construction.Modifications were made during renovation.”
We walk the corridor, passing doors marked as storage and mechanical rooms.Everything seems to match until we reach what should be the end of the hall.But there, tucked behind a slight jog in the corridor that doesn’t appear on the blueprints, is another door painted to blend with the wall.
I stop.“What’s behind here?”
Adrien’s expression shifts, confusion replacing confidence.“That’s...I’m not sure.Storage, I assume.”
The door is unmarked, and if one glanced down the corridor, they might not notice the subtle lines, seeing instead an extension of pewter grey wall.A subtle electronic beep emanates from behind it—rhythmic, like a heartbeat.
“You’re unsure?”
“The renovation crew handled many of the basement modifications.I focused on the floors that would serve our members.”He’s defensive, but his voice lacks the conviction of the blameless.
I try the handle.Locked, but not with the standard keys the other basement doors use.This lock is electronic, a small LED glowing red beside a keypad.
“Adrien.”I’ve no tolerance for lies.“This isn’t on the blueprints.This lock is high-end security.What aren’t you telling me?”
“I’m telling you everything I know.”His jaw flexes and he frowns.“Which apparently isn’t as much as I thought.”
I study his face in the dim corridor lighting.The confusion appears genuine, but there’s something else—a flicker of concern.Perhaps the implications of careless oversight are dawning on him.
“Step back.This might take a moment.”I pull the small device from my jacket pocket—a sleek little miracle Quinn insisted I bring “just in case.”
“Brie, what are you?—”
“My job.”The electronic lock picker is a beauty, sleek and efficient.“Funny,” I murmur, attaching the device.“Seems I’m often breaking into things.”
“You’re not the only one,” he says quietly.
The lock picker interfaces with the keypad, running through possible combinations at superhuman speed.Within thirty seconds, the LED flickers from red to green.
The door swings open with a soft hydraulic hiss, and cool air washes over us.The electronic humming grows louder.
Inside is a server room.
Rows of black metal towers stretch into the depths of the space; their surfaces dotted with blinking lights.The air conditioning hums steadily, keeping the temperature constant.But it’s not just the servers that settle the familiar weight of a serious case on my shoulders—it’s the data entry summary of what appears to be catalogued video footage showing on a monitor.
Timestamps.Room numbers.File names that suggest X-rated content.A chair and desk that show someone works from this room.
“Christ,” Adrien breathes behind me.
I step deeper into the room, my skin tingling, adrenaline coursing through my veins.The setup is professional-grade, expensive.Someone has invested serious money in this operation.The monitors cycle through what appears to be an organizational system—footage sorted by date, location, participants, and activity.
The servers blink like a thousand watchful eyes.Lust, stripped of consent, mechanized and sold—this is what happens when desire becomes commerce.
“This isn’t just storage,” I say quietly.“This is a business.”
Adrien moves to stand beside me, his face pale in the glow of the monitors.“I had no idea.I swear to you, Brie, I had no idea this existed.”
I want to believe him.The shock on his face seems real.But someone in his organization knows about this room.Someone has been operating a side business using his club as cover.
“The question is,” I say, watching the monitors cycle through their inventory, “who has access to this room?And how long have they been running this operation?”
The implications are staggering.If someone is harvesting footage from the club’s private rooms, cataloguing it, organizing it—they’re not doing it for personal entertainment.This is blackmail material.Extortion.The kind of operation that could theoretically destroy lives and topple powerful elected officials, but most likely those threatened pay up, so it’s a money-making enterprise.
Adrien stares at the screens, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.“I know you think it’s predominantly sex, and I won’t deny that’s a component, but business is handled here.The backdoor variety.Every member trusts me with their privacy.Their secrets.They say they’re paying for the connections, but privacy is understood.”
