(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.”

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