The final tumbler pin yielded. The heavy brass cylinder rotated smoothly.
Connor turned the handle and slipped inside, quietly closing the massive oak doors behind him.
Director Sterling's private study was a sanctuary of analog preservation. Towering bookshelves made of solid, imported cherry wood lined the walls, holding thousands of physical, leather-bound texts. The room smelled of old paper, leather oil, and stale pipe tobacco.
In the far corner, nestled beneath a large, un-digitized portrait of the original founders of V-Conglomerate, sat a massive, fireproof steel filing cabinet.
Connor walked over to the cabinet. He bypassed the empty digital interface on the top drawer and examined the physical, mechanical lock cylinder. He slid his tension tool back into the keyhole, feeling the heavy tumbler pins yield with a series of sharp, satisfying clicks.
He pulled the heavy bottom drawer open.
