"I wouldn't," I said, my voice cutting through the room with such absolute, icy authority that the guard actually froze mid-step.
I didn't pull out my phone.
I pulled out a small, black encrypted flash drive.
I stepped past the frozen guard, moving with deliberate, unhurried purpose toward the mahogany desk. Preston frowned, taking a half-step back, confused by my lack of fear.
"What is that?" Preston demanded.
"When I bought this company," I said, my eyes locked onto his, "I didn't just buy the stock. I bought the infrastructure. I upgraded the mainframes. I installed my own people in the IT department."
I reached the desk and jammed the flash drive into the side of Preston's open laptop.
"You think you're smart because you skimmed some money and bullied a terrified CEO," I said, my fingers flying across the keyboard, bypassing his password screen with a master override command I had coded myself three months ago. "You think you hold the power because you have two rented thugs standing by a door."
"Stop touching that!" Preston yelled, lunging toward me.
I didn't even look up. I drove my left elbow straight backward, catching Preston square in the sternum. He gasped, the air rushing out of his lungs, and stumbled backward into the wall, clutching his chest.
The security guards moved to intervene.
"Gentlemen," I said, my voice echoing in the sudden silence of the room. I hit the enter key. "Before you ruin your lives for a man who is currently committing federal treason, I suggest you look at the monitors."
CHAPTER 4
The large security monitors mounted on the wall flickered. The live feeds of the gala floor vanished, replaced instantly by lines of rapidly scrolling data.
I had just executed a remote mirror protocol. Everything on Preston’s hard drive—every encrypted email to his offshore buyers, every falsified shipping manifest, every bank transfer he had routed through Arthur’s accounts—was currently being duplicated and sent simultaneously to my private servers and to the Seattle field office of the FBI.
Preston wheezed, pushing himself off the wall, his eyes wide with panic as he stared at the scrolling text.
"What did you do?" Preston choked out, his voice shrill. "What is that?"
"That is your life ending," I said calmly, pulling the flash drive out of the computer and slipping it back into my pocket.
I turned to face the two security guards. The younger one looked terrified. The massive older guard looked confused, his hands hovering near his waist.
"My name is Marcus Vance," I said to the guards, my voice projecting undeniable authority. "I am the sole owner of Sterling Automotive. You are currently assisting an employee in the theft of fifty million dollars of proprietary technology. If you lay a hand on me or my son, you will be charged as accomplices to federal corporate espionage. If you step aside right now, you get to go home to your families."
The massive guard looked at Preston, who was hyperventilating against the wall. Then he looked at the scrolling data on the screens. He recognized a sinking ship when he saw one.
The guard slowly raised his hands, took two steps backward, and opened the door. The younger guard immediately followed suit, practically pressing himself into the hallway to get out of the way.
"Close the door," I commanded.
The guard pulled the heavy oak door shut from the outside. The lock clicked. We were alone with Arthur and Preston.
Arthur was weeping silently in his chair, his face buried in his hands. He knew it was over. His career, his reputation, his freedom—all gone because he lacked the spine to stand up to a bully.
Preston, however, was spiraling into frantic desperation. He pushed himself off the wall and lunged toward the laptop, his fingers scrambling over the keyboard, trying to abort the transfer.
"You can't do this!" Preston screamed, his voice breaking. "I have buyers! I have people who will kill me if I don't deliver that battery matrix tonight!"
"That sounds like a personal problem," I said, stepping between him and the desk.