The room was small, about 10 by 10 feet. It wasn’t dusty. It was clean.
There was a single cot in the corner, a desk, and a wall covered in… maps.
Martha stepped closer to the maps. They weren’t of Ohio. They were detailed blueprints of banks and jewelry stores across three different states. Some had red “X” marks on them. Others had dates written next to them—dates from 15, 10, even 2 years ago.
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On the desk sat an old radio scanner, still buzzing quietly, tuned to the local police frequency.
Martha felt sick. Who was her husband? The man who mowed the lawn on Sundays and complained about taxes? Or the man who sat in this bunker planning… this?
But the real shock was in the metal box under the bed.
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