Bernstein slipped into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. The air inside was thick, and musty, carrying the scent of old fabric and dust that had settled over years of neglect.
The low hum of fluorescent lights overhead flickered, casting a pale glow that barely reached the corners of the cramped space.
A small TV sat on a table in the centre, and a few worn-out chairs lined the walls, their fabric fraying at the edges.
His heart raced, the sound of his own pulse deafening in his ears as he placed his briefcase down on the table.
The room felt claustrophobic, but that was exactly what he needed—privacy, a place where no one would overhear what he was about to discover.
Fingers trembling slightly, he reached into the briefcase and pulled out the cassette tape. His mind spun with questions, but he pushed them aside.
Now wasn't the time for doubt. He had to know what was on this tape. He had to hear it for himself.
