Federal agents slapped cuffs on Mason, but eleven-year-old Eli’s eyes shifted directly to the company’s Chief Engineer, Vance.
“Mason is just a showroom director,” Eli said, his voice slicing through the dead-silent room. “He doesn’t know how to code a catastrophic brake failure.”
Vance’s face drained of color. He took a slow, calculated step toward the exit.
Eli tapped his black key fob twice.
Instantly, the showroom’s smart-glass doors locked tight, and heavy steel security shutters slammed down, sealing them inside.
“My father didn’t die in a random crash,” Eli said, plugging a master drive into the prototype’s dashboard. “His brakes failed the exact same way. But before he died, he left one last ghost file buried deep inside the engine’s neural net.”
Eli hit play.
The supercar’s booming acoustics broadcast his late father’s voice.
*“Vance. Mason. If this is playing, you killed me. You thought you could disable my car, steal our drive software, and sell it to our rivals at Apex Motors to bankrupt my father.”*
Vance lunged desperately for the dashboard, but an investigator slammed him against the polished hood.
The recording continued.
*“But I didn’t just discover your backdoor code. I weaponized it. The moment you transmitted that stolen software to Apex, you didn’t give them our prototype. You gave them a digital virus.”*
Suddenly, Mason’s pocket vibrated furiously. Then Vance’s.
Mason awkwardly angled his phone with cuffed hands. His screen flashed red with a terrifying text message from Apex’s ruthless CEO: *OUR ENTIRE GLOBAL NETWORK JUST DELETED ITSELF. WE KNOW WHERE YOU ARE.*
Eli climbed back onto the hood of the $2 million supercar and calmly slipped his dirty leather glove back on.
“My dad didn’t just build cars,” the eleven-year-old smiled. “He built traps.”