Arthur had been one of those workers.
Rusty went into the office and searched the old property records while Mara sat beside Leo at the desk. After several minutes, he found an inventory sheet identifying locker forty-two as belonging to Arthur Hayes, with access rights retained by the family's estate arrangement.
He read the entry twice.
Then he looked toward Mara.
“You're authorized to access it.”
She swallowed.
“Okay.”
Rusty nodded.
“I'll get the building key.”
He returned with an old ring carrying nearly a dozen keys. Some had handwritten tags. Others were so worn that their original labels had disappeared.
Big Dave stood near the basement entrance.
“Want us to come?”
Rusty nodded.
“Paul, too. We may need help moving anything heavy.”
Then he looked toward Leo.
“You stay with your mother.”
The boy nodded.
For a moment, his eyes moved toward the dark staircase.
Then he reached for Mara's hand.
She squeezed it.
“I'm right here.”
Rusty unlocked the door.
It resisted at first.
The old metal latch had stiffened with age.
He tried again.
Then the lock finally turned.
The door swung inward with a long, dry creak.
A flight of concrete stairs disappeared into darkness.
Dust covered the steps.
The air smelled of cold metal, old wood, and machinery that hadn't operated in years.
Rusty switched on a portable work light.
The beam illuminated a narrow corridor lined with abandoned equipment.
An old lathe stood beneath a canvas cover.
Steel shelving disappeared into shadow.
Several large machine bases remained bolted to the floor, their working components removed long ago.
On the far wall hung a faded sign.
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Rusty looked toward Mara.
“Remember this place?”
She smiled sadly.
“Arthur used to come home from here looking like he'd been wrestling with a truck.”
Big Dave chuckled.
“That sounds about right.”
They descended carefully.
Leo held his mother's hand.
For a moment, he felt frightened.
The basement was darker than he remembered.
But he recognized the corridor.
He'd been down there once with Arthur when he was very small, staying beside his father while the adults gathered tools.
He remembered the smell.
The low ceiling.
And the strange way voices echoed from the concrete walls.
They passed the first row of lockers.
Thirty-six.
Thirty-seven.
Thirty-eight.
Leo looked toward each number.
Then stopped.
“Thirty-nine.”
Rusty glanced back.
The boy nodded toward the next cage.