"I want the watch."
Julian stared at me, his chest heaving, the clock ticking relentlessly on the wall.
He was trapped.
If he didn't unlock it, he lost the company today.
If he unlocked it, he might survive the video call and deal with me later.
"Fine," Julian whispered, his eyes darting frantically. "Fix it. Show me the sequence."
"I need to hold it," I said, holding out my scarred, calloused hand.
Julian hesitated, his grip tightening on the titanium casing.
He looked at Tyler, who was watching intently, then back at me.
Reluctantly, agonizingly slowly, Julian placed the heavy, magnificent timepiece into my palm.
The moment the cold metal touched my skin, a wave of profound grief washed over me.
It was exactly as David had drawn it.
The weight was perfect.
I looked down at the intricate dial, feeling my right thumb rub against my index finger, tracing the familiar pattern.
"Do it," Julian urged, glancing at his computer screen as an incoming video call notification popped up. "Quickly."
I didn't rush.
I took a deep breath, blocking out Julian, blocking out the office, focusing only on the memory of my son sitting at his workbench, laughing as he showed me the secret.
I placed my thumb on the winding crown.
I pressed it inward until I felt a microscopic click.
Then, I wound it backward exactly three full rotations.
The internal gears shifted with a satisfying, heavy mechanical resistance.
I tapped the sapphire crystal twice with my fingernail, aligning the pressure plate.
Julian leaned in closer, his eyes greedy, watching my every move so he could memorize the sequence.
Finally, I pulled the crown outward until it clicked twice, and I spun it forward.
But the watch didn't chime.
Instead, a sharp, metallic snap echoed in the quiet room.
Julian jumped back. "What did you do?"
The entire back plate of the titanium casing suddenly sprang open like a clamshell, completely disconnecting from the main body of the watch.
It hung open on a tiny, hidden hinge, exposing a completely empty inner chamber.
Julian stared at the open back plate.
"What is this?" he demanded. "Where are the gears? Why is it hollow?"
I looked at the inside of the casing.
Engraved directly into the titanium, in tiny, flawless script, was a message.
Property of David Pendelton. US Patent Pending. Stolen by Julian Vance on February 12th.
Beneath the engraving was a microscopic QR code, milled directly into the metal.
Julian leaned over the desk, squinting at the tiny writing.
As he read the words, the color drained from his face for the final time.
He realized that by forcing me to unlock the watch, he hadn't saved his company.
He had just triggered the physical proof of his own crime.
"No," Julian breathed, his voice hollow. "No, this is impossible."
"He knew you would steal it," I said quietly, looking Julian dead in the eye. "He built the proof directly into the frame. Anyone who scans that code will see David's original patent filings, dated six months before you claimed the design."
Julian backed away from the desk, his hands flying to his hair.
The video call notification on his computer was ringing loudly now, a cheerful, relentless chime.
He looked at the computer screen, then at the open watch in my hands.
His corporate facade completely shattered, replaced by sheer, violent panic.
"Give it to me," Julian ordered, his voice dropping an octave.
"It's over, Julian," I said, stepping back.
"I said give it to me!" Julian screamed.
He lunged across the desk, moving faster than I anticipated.
He grabbed a heavy, solid brass paperweight shaped like a globe.
His eyes were wild, completely unhinged.
"If I can't have it," Julian roared, raising the heavy brass globe high above his head, "neither can you!"
He swung the heavy metal weapon down with all his strength, aiming directly for the open titanium casing in my hands, intending to crush the only physical proof of his crime into dust.
The brass paperweight came down in a vicious, sweeping arc.
Julian Vance wasn't just trying to destroy the watch; he was swinging with enough force to shatter my hands completely.
I had spent forty years working around heavy machinery, avoiding spinning lathes and crushing hydraulic presses.