"This young man is not a criminal. He's one of the most naturally gifted security engineers I've ever encountered. And your VP tried to destroy him to cover his own negligence."
Grant stood up. "This is a witch hunt. I've been with this company for 11 years. I built the security infrastructure that..."
"Sat down," Preston said.
Not sit down. Sat down, past tense, like it was already over.
Grant sat.
Preston spoke to the room. "Effective immediately, Grant Hollister is terminated for cause. His access credentials have been revoked as of 7:00 a.m. this morning. The matter has been referred to the SEC for investigation into whether the suppression of the vulnerability constituted a material omission in our public filings. The FBI complaint against Terrence Walker has been withdrawn. Nexus Systems' legal team filed the withdrawal at 6:00 a.m."
He turned to the SEC representatives. "We will cooperate fully with any investigation."
Then he stood. "Bring Mr. Walker up."
Ten minutes later, Terrence walked into the boardroom. He was still wearing the same hoodie, the same taped sneakers. The notebook was under his arm. He looked at the long table, the suits, the screens, the windows overlooking the campus, and he looked like exactly what he was: an 18-year-old who had never been in a room like this in his life.
Preston Hayes walked around the table and extended his hand.
"Mr. Walker, on behalf of Nexus Systems, I owe you an apology. What happened to you in this building was inexcusable. It does not reflect who we are or who we intend to be."
Terrence shook his hand. His grip was firm. His eyes were steady.
"The $1 million bounty is yours," Preston said. "It will be wired to your account today. No conditions, no delays, no compliance reviews."
He paused.
"But I'd also like to offer you something else. A position as a cybersecurity consultant reporting directly to me. Full salary, full benefits, and a scholarship to any university of your choosing, fully funded by Nexus Systems."
Terrence held the notebook against his chest, the same notebook Grant had thrown on the floor, the same one with a boot print on one page and rubber bands holding it together.
"I appreciate that, sir," Terrence said. "But I need to make a phone call first."
Preston nodded.
Terrence stepped into the hallway. He borrowed a phone from Briana Wells, who was standing outside the door with tears running down her face.
He dialed the number. It rang four times.
"Grandma?"
"Baby." Her voice was thin. Machines beeped in the background. "Baby, are you okay?"