The Billionaire in the Scrapyard

Chapter 6: The Stage Is Set

"Do not twitch."

The steel barrel pressed harder against the base of my skull. 

I kept my hands flat on the cold metal frame of the splitter box. My heart pounded hard against my ribs, but I forced my voice to stay flat and quiet beneath the loud murmur of the crowd on the other side of the heavy black curtain.

"Richard pays you well, Captain."

"He pays me enough to clean up garbage," the man rasped behind me. It was Richard's private security chief, his breath smelling of stale tobacco. "Take your hands off that wire. Real slow."

On the stage above our heads, the audio speakers crackled. Julian’s voice boomed through the massive hall.

"Distinguished guests, members of the city council, and esteemed partners," Julian announced, his tone loud and practiced. "Today, Sterling Global does not just present software. We present the financial engine of the next century."

Polite applause roared from the four hundred seated investors. 

"Stand up, boy," the guard ordered, grabbing my shoulder with his free hand. 

I did not stand up. 

I slammed my elbow backward with all the weight in my torso, driving my arm straight into the man's solar plexus.

Air exploded from his lungs with a wet, ragged gasp. The gun barrel slipped off my head, discharging a suppressed pop that was instantly swallowed by the roar of the convention hall speakers. The bullet chewed a clean hole through the floorboards near my shoes.

I spun around on my knees, grabbed the guard's wrist, and twisted it hard against the steel edge of the rack until his fingers opened. 

The heavy pistol dropped onto the rubber cables with a dull thud. 

The guard lunged forward, throwing his full weight over me, his heavy hands locking around my throat. His face was twisted in red fury, his thumbs digging deep into my windpipe, cutting off my breath instantly.

"You are going to die in the dark, you little bastard," he hissed through clenched teeth.

My vision began to blur at the edges. Red spots danced in front of my eyes. 

Above us, Julian’s voice kept rolling across the speakers.

"The Apex system uses predictive neural models to identify trade spreads before the central exchange even registers the orders. Watch the screen as we run our first live test simulation."

I could not breathe. My hands clawed at the guard's thick forearms, but his grip was locked tight.

My right foot hit the heavy steel wrench left behind by the stage technicians. 

I gripped the cold iron handle with my fingertips, swung my arm upward with the last ounce of strength in my chest, and slammed the heavy iron into the side of the guard's jaw.

Bone cracked. 

The guard’s eyes rolled back. His grip shattered as he went completely limp, collapsing face-first into the tangled power lines behind the curtain.

I fell against the metal rack, coughing violently, sucking in huge gulps of air. My neck burned where his thumbs had dug in, but there was no time to rest.

On stage, the sound of keyboard clicks echoed through the microphone.

"Initiating live market link now," Julian announced proudly. "Watch the green ledger."

I scrambled over the unconscious guard, grabbed the black transmitter from the floor, and jammed the four copper prongs directly into the master video output port of the main splitter box.

I pressed the red toggle switch on the side of the device.

A tiny green light blinked on: UPLINK OVERRIDE ACTIVE.

On the massive fifty-foot screen above the convention stage, the spinning gold Sterling Global logo suddenly froze. 

The smooth green trading chart vanished. 

A deafening static screech tore through the high-end audio system, making half the front row cover their ears in pain.

Julian stopped talking. His mouth hung open as he looked up at the giant screen behind him.

The screen flashed bright crimson red. 

Giant white letters, ten feet tall, populated the entire display for four hundred billionaires, the city mayor, and twenty live news cameras to see:

CRITICAL SYSTEM ERROR: UNAUTHORIZED USER DETECTED.

SOURCE CODE COPYRIGHT: ARTHUR VANCE ESTATE, NINETEEN-NINETY-NINE.

PRIMARY ARCHITECT: LEO VANCE.

FRAUD ALERT: CODE PIRACY IN PROGRESS.

A dead, suffocating silence fell over the entire four-hundred-seat hall.

Nobody clapped. Nobody moved. 

Reporters in the middle aisles jumped up from their chairs, frantically pointing their camera lenses at the glowing red text on the stage screen.

"What is that?" someone in the third row shouted. "Is this a joke?"

"Julian!" Richard’s voice cut through the front row, completely stripped of its calm billionaire mask. He stood up from his leather chair, his face bright purple with rage. "Shut it down! Pull the plug!"

Julian was frozen at the podium. His hands were trembling so violently he knocked his glass of water over, spilling it directly across his silver laptop keyboard.

Sparks flew from the keyboard tray. The audio speakers let out a violent pop.

"I... it is a glitch!" Julian stammered into the live microphone, his voice cracking like a terrified child. "It is just a demonstration test! The software is secure! Father, I did not do this!"

"Get off the stage, you idiot!" Richard roared, loud enough for every microphone in the room to pick up.

I pushed the heavy black velvet curtain aside and stepped out onto the polished wooden stage.

The bright television lights hit my face, warm and blinding. 

I wore the navy wool blazer of Arthur Vance. I stood tall under the massive glowing screen, looking down at the front row where Richard Sterling stood frozen in absolute horror.

I walked straight to the podium, grabbed the main microphone from Julian's shaking hand, and looked directly into the center television camera.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," I said, my voice steady, deep, and clear throughout the massive hall. "My name is Leo Vance. And Julian Sterling just tried to sell you stolen code on a stolen stage."

Julian lunged at me with his fists raised, his face twisted in pure, desperate malice.

"Shut up! Shut your mouth!"

Before Julian could touch me, the heavy glass doors at the back of the hall banged open.

A dozen state police officers marched into the room, led by Evelyn Cross holding an official blue folder high in the air.

"Julian Sterling!" Evelyn's voice boomed through the open hall doors. "You are under arrest for securities fraud and unauthorized access to state municipal networks! Do not move!”