(This was supposed to end differently, but what I wanted to say changed drastically as I was writing this thing. Oh well. In retrospect, this may have been inspired by another television show – I must have a really malleable subconscious.)
Fuck… It’s not his birthday, not the date of the foundation of this company… It’s not his initials… Parents’ birthdays, social security digits, dogs’ birthdays – all wrong…
Fuck. This is why I hate traditional dial padlocks – no way to just hack the whole thing.
A sound. I pick up my gun and whirl around.
It’s him – Mr. Jackson Melville.
“Diane? What are you –“
“Give me the combination. Right now.” My hand trembles slightly – I hope he didn’t notice.
“What exactly do you want to find, dear?”
“Everything I need.”
“Well, everything to you may not be everything to me.”