"Baby, did you do it?"
"I did it, Grandma. I fixed it."
A pause. He could hear her breathing, the oxygen machine humming in the background.
"Then why do you sound like that?"
Terrence looked through the glass at the building full of people who had watched him solve their problem in 4 minutes and 38 seconds, people who had laughed when his notebook hit the floor, people who were now, at that very moment, deciding whether to pay him or bury him.
"They're not sure they want to give me the money."
The line went quiet. Then Evelyn Walker said something her grandson would carry with him for the rest of his life.
"They never are, baby. They never are."
While Terrence sat on a bench in the lobby, Grant Hollister was three floors above him destroying his life.
The conference room on the 12th floor had no windows. Grant had chosen it for exactly that reason. He sat at the head of the table with Nexus's chief legal counsel, a woman named Diane Mercer, and two senior engineers he trusted to keep their mouths shut.
"The kid is a plant," Grant said. "Nobody walks in off the street and patches a zero-day in under five minutes. Not unless they put it there in the first place."
Diane Mercer tapped her pen against her legal pad. "Do you have evidence of that?"
"I don't need evidence. I need a narrative." Grant leaned forward. "An 18-year-old from Oakland with no degree, no credentials, no employment history in tech. He just happens to know exactly where the vulnerability lives.
That's not talent. That's a confession."
He laid out his plan. First, withhold the bounty pending an internal investigation that would take months. Second, file a formal complaint with the FBI's cybercrime division alleging that Terrence had planted the vulnerability as part of an extortion scheme. Third, leak the complaint to the press before the FBI even reviewed it so that by the time anyone looked at the actual evidence, the public narrative would already be set.
"Once his name is associated with cybercrime, nobody will touch him," Grant said. "No company, no university, no law firm willing to take his case. He becomes radioactive."
Diane hesitated. "Grant, if the patch is legitimate and he's cleared..."
"He won't be cleared. Not in time. We control the timeline. We control the investigation. By the time anyone proves he's innocent, he'll be broke, blacklisted, and forgotten."
He picked up his phone and called building security.
"The kid in the lobby, don't let him leave. Tell him it's standard procedure during an active cybersecurity investigation. Hold his ID. If he pushes back, remind him that leaving during an investigation could be considered obstruction."
Downstairs, a security guard walked over to Terrence and asked for his identification. Terrence handed over his state ID, the only government-issued document he owned. The guard took it and disappeared behind the reception desk.
"Standard procedure," the guard said when Terrence asked why. "You'll get it back when the investigation is complete."