"Oops! The Chicken Boy Is The Billionaire's Son"

Chapter 4: Jeffery Epstein

The closing of Demo Day was usually a noisy, chaotic mess of students popping cheap champagne and investors handing out business cards. 

But tonight, the atmosphere inside the Grand Hall was entirely different. People were whispering. The investors from Silicon Valley and Wall Street were hurriedly packing their briefcases, their faces pale and their eyes darting toward the VIP exit.

“A Quantum Machine?”

“Built by a student at Braxton?”

It was completely surreal. The math displayed on the screen was light years ahead of what the government was doing in underground labs. But that wasn't even the biggest shock of the night.

Dr. Sage Walters.

The man was a ghost. He controlled tech conglomerates, private military contractors, and global shipping lines. He didn't show up to presidential meetings, not to talk of college science fairs. The whispers bounced from row to row as people filtered out. 

“Why was he here?”

“Who did he come for? Last the press checked, he didn't even have a child.”

“Did he just happen to be in Boston?

“This is definitely breaking the entire internet tonight!!”

Nathan didn't care about the chitchat. He just needed to get out of the building fast before he threw up.

He pushed through the heavy oak doors and half-jogged down the main corridor, his head ducked low. But human beings are fast, and college kids with a fresh target are faster.

The moment he stepped into the main lobby, the flashes started. Dozens of smartphones were already pointed right at his face.

"Hey, it's the chicken boy!" a guy from his advanced calculus class shouted.

"Give us a crow, Walters! Come on, let's hear it!

Laughter bounced off the high ceilings. Nathan kept his head down and shoved his way through the crowd, his cheap suit catching on backpacks and elbows. They were already making memes. He could see the screens as he pushed past .. pictures of him holding the cardboard box, poorly edited with cartoon chickens flying out of it.

"Hey cuckoo! Where's your billion dollars?" a girl sneered, sticking her phone right in his path.

Nathan swatted her hand away, but that just made the crowd louder. Suddenly, something cold and wet smacked hard against the back of his neck. It burst on impact, sliding down his collar and soaking into his shirt.

"Chicken poop for the chicken boy!" a voice yelled from the top of the stairs.

Nathan reached back. Vanilla ice cream. It was sticky and freezing against his skin. The lobby erupted into a fresh wave of mockery. They were treating him like a freak show.

He didn't stop. He couldn't. His brain had already deciphered exactly what had happened back there on the stage, but his heart was lagging behind, dragging on the floor. It was a physical ache in the center of his chest. He had lost everything. His life, his future, the woman he was ready to marry, all of it stripped away and repackaged under another man's name in the span of twenty minutes.

He slammed his shoulder into the glass exit doors and stumbled out into the cold Boston night air.

He needed to get away, to just walk until his legs gave out, but as he turned the corner toward the loading docks, he froze.

There was a large, unmarked black box truck idling near the service ramp. Four men wearing cheap suits and white gloves were manhandling a heavy object covered in a black tarp. 

It was his machine.

Nathan’s blood spiked. He watched them shove the delicate obsidian core —the one he had meticulously wired by hand at three in the morning for six months straight— like it was a broken refrigerator.

Just a few feet away, standing near a silver Maybach, was Principal Epstein. The man was tapping away on his phone, a smug, satisfied grin plastered across his face.

Nathan didn't even think. He just ran.

"Sir! Epstein!" Nathan yelled, his voice rough and breathless as he closed the distance.

The Principal looked up, irritated, as his driver quickly stepped out to block Nathan's path. Epstein waved the driver off and slipped his phone into his tailored jacket.

"Well," Epstein sighed, looking at the ice cream melting down Nathan's collar. "If it isn't our very own campus comedian. What do you want, Walters? I'm already late for a celebratory dinner."

"I know you know," Nathan panted, stopping a few feet away. His fists were balled up so tight his knuckles were white. "You know your son stole my project. Mark doesn't even know basic Python. He couldn't code a calculator, let alone a Quantum-Bridge. Do something. You are the principal of this college! Please, don't let my hard work go in vain."

Epstein stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled. It wasn't an angry smile. It was worse. It was a smile of pure, condescending pity.

"You're a smart kid, Nathan. I'll give you that," Epstein said smoothly, leaning against the hood of the Maybach. "The math I saw on that screen tonight? Brilliant. Truly. But let me explain how the real world works, since you clearly missed that lecture."

Epstein took a step closer, lowering his voice.

"Did you honestly think I was going to let a nobody…. a kid who scrubs the toilets  take the biggest technological victory of the century right under my nose? In my own university? While my son is standing right there?" Epstein let out a short, dry laugh. "You're out of your goddamn mind."

Nathan felt his stomach drop. "It's stealing. It's my property."

"Then go get a lawyer," Epstein challenged, spreading his hands wide. "Go ahead. Sue me. Oh, wait. That's right. You're a cleaner. You can't even afford to dry-clean that awful suit you're wearing, let alone afford a retainer for a corporate litigation firm. Who is a judge going to believe? The esteemed Principal and his wealthy son, or the unstable janitor who brought a live chicken to a tech convention?"

Nathan couldn't speak. The sheer, naked corruption of it hit him like a baseball bat.

"Look, I'm not a wicked man," Epstein continued, pulling out his phone again. "I believe in fair compensation for a hard day's work. Give me your routing number. I'll send a thousand dollars to your account right now. For... you know, upkeep. Go buy yourself a nice meal. See? I am generous.”

"Keep your dirty money," Nathan spat.

Epstein shrugged, putting the phone away. "Suit yourself. And hey... don't be too hard on your girlfriend. She really is a darling. But all it took was a few dollars, a nice handbag, and some promises about the future to convince her to dump you. Women like that are practical, Nathan. They follow the money."

Epstein opened the door to the Maybach, pausing before he got in.

"And between you and me? Mark will probably dump her once we're done with the press tour. She's just a prop. Anyway, I gotta run. Catch you in school tomorrow..." Epstein paused, a cruel glint in his eye. "Or not. You are not expelled, after all."

He giggled - an actual, high-pitched giggle- before hopping into the back seat. The heavy door slammed shut, and the Maybach pulled away, leaving Nathan standing in the exhaust fumes.

Nathan stood there in the dark, his breathing ragged. He turned around, his eyes scanning the parking lot.

At the far end, under a flickering streetlamp, he spotted a bright red sports car. Mark's car.

Mark and Amanda were standing by the passenger door. Mark was laughing, unlocking the car with a chirp of his keys, while Amanda fixed her makeup in the side mirror. They looked completely unbothered. They looked like they hadn't just ruined a man's life.