The Billionaire in the Scrapyard

Chapter 5: Hidden Allies

"Put this on, kid."

Marcus tossed a dark navy blazer across the back seat of Evelyn's sedan. The car was speeding south along the coastal highway, the tires humming over the wet road. 

"Where did you get this?"

"Your father had three of them in the back of the garage locker. Good wool. Thick. It fits across the shoulders if you sit up straight."

I pulled the jacket over my arms. The fabric was cold against my skin, but it fit cleanly. 

Evelyn checked her rearview mirror, turning the steering wheel smoothly around a sharp curve. 

"We have eighty minutes before Julian steps onto the main stage at the convention center. The hall has three security checkpoints at the front doors. Sterling private guards are scanning every single face."

"What about the VIP pass?"

"The gold pass gets you through the press gate on the east side," Evelyn said. "They check the badge number against the guest ledger, but they do not use biometric thumb scanners at that door. That is your only way in."

"And if Richard's security chief recognizes my face?"

"He will not be at the east gate," Evelyn said. "I called in a fake fire safety compliance audit on the main delivery docks ten minutes ago. Richard’s personal team is tied up in the basement arguing with three city inspectors."

Marcus grunted from the passenger seat, resting his heavy hands on the dashboard. 

"You think like a street crook, lady. That is a compliment."

"I grew up watching Richard Sterling steal companies, Mr. Cole," Evelyn replied without looking away from the road. "You do not fight a thief with polite letters. You fight him with his own rulebook."

"What is the plan once Leo gets inside the hall?"

"Julian has his demonstration laptop wired directly into the center stage projection screen," I said, leaning forward between the front seats. "He thinks the Apex code is running locally off his private hard drive. It is not. It has to ping the city financial server to simulate live trades."

"Can you cut the line from your phone?" Marcus asked.

"No. My phone does not have enough signal strength to break through the building's internal jamming field. I have to physically plug this transmitter into the stage splitter box behind the main podium."

I pulled a small black rectangular device from my pocket. It was no bigger than a pack of cards, with four short copper prongs sticking out of the bottom.

"What does that little box do?" Evelyn asked.

"It mirrors the terminal from our scrapyard garage," I said. "The moment Julian clicks start on his demonstration, this box intercepts the video output. Instead of showing the investors a profitable trading chart, it will broadcast Arthur Vance's original patent documents and Julian's real source code logs on the fifty-foot screen."

"In front of four hundred billionaires," Marcus said, a cold grin spreading across his face. "And twenty live television cameras."

"They will arrest him on the spot for corporate fraud," Evelyn said. "The State Commission will have no choice. Even Chairman Miller cannot protect a man whose crimes are broadcast on national television."

The sedan slowed down as we entered the downtown financial district. 

Tall glass towers rose into the gray sky on both sides of the street. Billboards with Richard Sterling's face and the golden Sterling Global logo hung from every second light post. The streets were packed with black town cars, police cruisers, and crowds of reporters holding heavy video equipment.

Evelyn pulled into an alleyway two blocks away from the convention center and cut the engine.

"This is as close as I can take you," she said, turning around in her seat to face me. "If Richard sees my car near the building, he will know the State Commission is moving against him."

"Marcus stays with you in the car," I said, reaching for the door handle.

"Like hell I do," Marcus snapped, turning his head. "I am walking behind you, kid. If one of those guards reaches for an iron, I will break his collarbone."

"No," I said, looking him in the eyes. "If they see you, Marcus, they will know Arthur Vance's people are back. They will lock the entire building down before I can reach the stage. You need to stay by the radio. If things go wrong, you trigger the power surge from the scrapyard server."

Marcus looked at me for a long, quiet moment. He let out a rough breath, shaking his head.

"You sound just like your old man when he was twenty-six. Too stubborn to stay alive."

"I am staying alive, Marcus. And I am taking back what he built."

I tucked the black transmitter into my inner jacket pocket, adjusted the gold VIP badge around my neck, and pushed the car door open into the cold drizzle.

"Leo," Evelyn called out softly before I closed the door.

I stopped and looked back into the car.

"Julian is arrogant, but Richard is not stupid," she said, her voice dead serious. "Do not look Richard in the eye if he is standing by that stage. He knows how you walk. He knows how you breathe. Just get to the splitter box."

"I know," I said.

I shut the car door and stepped out into the crowded street.

The convention plaza was buzzing with hundreds of people in dark suits, security personnel with earpieces, and camera crews setting up tripods. A massive white banner stretched across the main entrance: 

STERLING GLOBAL: THE FUTURE OF WEALTH MANAGEMENT.

I kept my head slightly down, pulling the collar of the wool blazer up against the wind. I walked past the long line of investors waiting at the front metal detectors and turned down the concrete walkway toward the east press entrance.

Two guards stood by the glass door, holding clipboards.

"Badge," one of them muttered, barely looking up.

I held up the gold lanyard with Evelyn's registration number. 

The guard tapped the number into his tablet. The screen flashed green with a soft beep.

"Press box row four, sir. Keep your badge visible at all times."

"Thank you."

I pushed through the heavy glass door and stepped into the warmth of the convention center. 

The main hall was gigantic. High ceilings with industrial lighting rigs hung over a room packed with four hundred seated executives, venture capitalists, and city officials. In the center of the hall stood a raised black stage. 

Above the stage hung a massive, fifty-foot digital screen showing a spinning gold logo: APEX ALGORITHM.

Sitting in the front row of VIP leather chairs was Richard Sterling. 

He was surrounded by four corporate lawyers and the city police chief, laughing and drinking sparkling water like he already owned the world.

On stage, Julian was adjusting his microphone at the central podium. He looked nervous, his hands shaking slightly as he plugged his silver laptop into the primary stage feed cable. 

I moved along the shadowed outer wall, slipping behind the heavy black stage curtains near the electrical routing panels. 

The main video splitter box was sitting on a metal rack right beneath the stage stairs. It was completely unguarded.

I knelt down, pulled the black transmitter from my pocket, and lined up the copper prongs with the master video output port.

My fingers touched the metal cable.

Before I could click the prongs into place, a cold, heavy metal barrel pressed firmly against the back of my skull.

A voice whispered right into my ear from the shadows of the curtain.

"Richard said you would try the east door, boy. Stand up slowly, or I paint this curtain with your brains."