The taller man pulled his companion toward the door. One hurried into the maze of storage rows while the other struggled to disentangle his jacket from a bent shelf bracket. A small white card slipped from his pocket, landed beside Elias's boot, and remained there as the man ran after his partner. By the time Elias reached the entrance, both were disappearing toward the far fence.
He did not chase them. His grandmother was breathing hard near the back wall, and an old person could be injured by shock even without being touched. He took her by the shoulders, asked whether she was hurt, and waited until she looked into his eyes and answered clearly. Only then did he pick up the fallen card with the edge of a clean handkerchief.
It was an access credential bearing the Monroe Crown Hotel logo. The printed name had been obscured by wear, but a contractor identifier remained visible on the lower edge. Elias photographed both sides and placed the card in a paper envelope to preserve it for investigators. The facility manager arrived moments later, alarmed to find shelves damaged and a customer shaken.
Elias called local police, and two officers arrived to record the assault, the property damage, and the missing items. The facility's external camera had captured portions of the intruders' approach, though it did not provide a clear view of their faces. The manager agreed to preserve the original files rather than send only compressed clips by email. Elias gave the officers the hotel credential and described the threats as precisely as he could.
Altha sat on an overturned wooden crate while the officers took her statement. She refused an ambulance but agreed to let Elias drive her to an urgent care clinic after the scene was documented. She had not been struck, yet her hands trembled for several minutes and her breathing remained shallow. Her grandson noticed she had kept one folder pressed beneath her shawl through the entire encounter.
"You could have dropped that," he said. She looked down at it, almost surprised to find she still held it. "It's your grandfather's handwriting," she answered. "I wasn't going to let men in masks take the last work we did together."
The story of the storage attack reached Celeste Harrow before Altha and Elias arrived at her office. Celeste had already asked a colleague to help prepare an emergency preservation request for the hotel's financial and ownership records. When Elias placed the hotel access card and police report on her conference table, she put aside her first questions about the trust. The immediate concern was whether someone had hired people to frighten or silence witnesses.
"We do not assume who sent them," Celeste said firmly. "We give investigators the card, the footage, and the timing, then we let them trace it. If we skip proof because we think we know the answer, we make it easier for the person responsible to escape accountability." Elias nodded, appreciating that she did not confuse caution with weakness. Altha listened with the patience of someone who had learned how damaging a poorly prepared accusation could become.