Chapter 6 - The Sabotage
Desperation is a corrosive acid; it eats away whatever remnants of common sense a person possesses until only destructive impulse remains.
As February gave way to the first thaw of March, Richard Vance found himself trapped in a narrowing cage. The bank that held his commercial notes had issued a final demand for payment. His wife had taken their children and moved to her parents' home in Michigan, leaving behind an empty colonial and an envelope containing divorce papers.
Sitting in his cold, empty living room, surrounded by unpacked boxes and half-empty bottles of bourbon, Richard’s phone buzzed. It was an email notification from the regional business journal.
The headline read:
***VANCE CAPITAL FOUNDATION ENDOWS MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR YOUTH AEROSPACE LAB; FOUNDER'S SON TO UNVEIL BREAKTHROUGH PROPULSION PROTOTYPE AT ANNUAL MIDWEST EXPO.***
Richard stared at the screen, the blue light reflecting in his bloodshot eyes. Attached to the article was a high-resolution photograph of Jason and Noah standing beside Dr. Mercer, smiling broadly in front of a sleek, state-of-the-art laboratory at the university research park.
A dark, venomous thought took root in Richard’s fractured mind.
*Noah.* It was always Noah. If Jason hadn't defended that boy, none of this would have happened. Jason was spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on some ridiculous youth project while his own brother faced financial ruin.
Richard knew that a major venture capital group—*Apex Horizon Technologies*, a fierce rival to Vance Capital’s private equity aerospace portfolio—had been attempting to acquire proprietary modular propulsion patents in the Midwest for months. If Richard could get his hands on the design files, schematics, or the physical prototype before the public unveiling at the expo, he could take them to Apex Horizon. He could claim he was acting as an independent broker for the intellectual property. He could secure a finder's fee of fifty, maybe a hundred thousand dollars—enough to stave off the bank, hire a defense lawyer, and get back on his feet.
He didn't think about the legality. He didn't think about his nephew. He was a drowning man grabbing for an anchor, completely blind to the fact that it would drag him straight to the bottom.
***
On Thursday evening, twenty-four hours before the grand opening of the National Youth Aeronautics Expo at the McCormick Place convention center, the exhibition hall was quiet. The vast concrete floor was lined with high-end corporate booths, university displays, and glass display cases holding complex engineering models.
At seven o'clock, the main lights dimmed as the custodial staff began their rounds.
Near the south loading dock, a figure in a heavy maintenance jumpsuit and a low-brimmed baseball cap slipped through a side security door that had been wedged open with a rubber doorstop. It was Richard. He had used an old vendor credential from Vance Capital’s commercial real estate division—a badge that building management hadn't yet purged from the regional facility registry.
His heart pounded against his ribs like a sledgehammer. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as he navigated the shadowed aisles between the corporate pavilions.
He knew where Noah’s exhibit was located: Booth 402, the centerpiece of the Midwest Youth Innovation pavilion.
When he reached the booth, he saw it.
Resting on a velvet-lined pedestal beneath a clear acrylic display case was the thruster prototype. Beside it lay a sleek black leather portfolio containing the master schematics, technical calculations, and the high-resolution digital design tablet loaded with Noah's proprietary CAD files.
Richard approached the pedestal, his hands shaking violently. He pulled a small glass-cutter and suction handle from his jacket pocket, his mouth dry as sand.
"Just the files," he muttered to himself, his voice a frantic whisper. "Just the tablet and the schematics. Apex will pay fifty grand for the source code alone. Jason will never know it was me. He’ll think it was industrial espionage."
He reached for the leather portfolio.
Suddenly, the overhead arena floodlights exploded into blinding, white illumination.
The sudden brilliance hit Richard like a physical blow. He gasped, dropping his glass-cutter onto the carpeted floor, raising his arm to shield his eyes.
"Step away from the pedestal, Richard," a voice boomed across the empty hall.
Richard spun around, stumbling backward against the display partition.
Standing thirty feet away, flanked by two armed Cook County Sheriff’s deputies and the chief of convention center security, was Jason.
Jason wore a charcoal overcoat, his hands resting casually in his pockets, his face carved into an expression of profound, weary disappointment. Beside him, holding a small digital camera, was Marcus.
"Jason..." Richard stammered, his eyes darting frantically toward the darkened exit corridors. "I... I was just... I came to see the exhibit! I wanted to see Noah’s project! I wanted to make things right!"
One of the deputies stepped forward, his hand resting on his service weapon. "Keep your hands where we can see them, sir. Do not move."
Marcus stepped forward, holding up a tablet that displayed a live security feed. "You used a decommissioned contractor badge issued to an LLC that was dissolved three weeks ago, Richard. We were notified the second your card pinged the loading dock reader. And Marcus already coordinated with the building supervisors to ensure every camera in this sector was recording high-definition footage."
Richard looked down at his trembling hands, the reality of the trap closing around him with mathematical certainty. "Jason... please... don't do this... I’m your brother! We’re blood!"
Jason walked slowly toward him, stopping five paces away. He looked at the man who shared his father’s eyes, the man who had allowed greed, entitlement, and cruelty to consume every shred of his humanity.
"You didn't come to see Noah, Richard," Jason said softly. "You came to steal a ten-year-old boy’s work and sell it to Apex Horizon. Marcus intercepted the emails you sent to their acquisition director yesterday from your burner account. You were willing to commit commercial burglary against your own nephew."
Tears of pathetic, cornered terror spilled down Richard’s hollow cheeks. "I didn't have a choice! They’re going to take my house! Sarah is leaving me! The bank... the bank is going to put me in prison for the loan!"
"You had a thousand choices, Richard," Jason replied, his voice heavy with sorrow, yet completely unyielding. "You had the choice to be an honest man. You had the choice to earn a living. You had the choice to treat a little boy with kindness on Christmas Eve instead of laughing while our mother tried to break his heart. You chose this path with every single step you took."
Jason nodded to the deputies. "Take him into custody."
The deputies moved in efficiently. One of them twisted Richard’s arms behind his back, the sharp, metallic *clack* of handcuffs echoing through the cavernous convention hall.
"Jason! JASON!" Richard wailed as they began to lead him away toward the security office. "Tell them to stop! Call Mom! Tell Mom to help me! JASON!"
Jason did not watch them drag his brother away. He turned toward the pedestal, reached out, and gently adjusted the velvet lining beneath Noah’s thruster prototype.
May you like
Then, from the pocket of his overcoat, he pulled out the chipped yellow No. 2 pencil, laid it carefully beside the prototype's plaque, and walked out into the cool night air.
***
