Each movement was deliberate, almost rhythmic, like he was following a pattern only he understood. He paused often, adjusting, listening, sensing the tiny internal clicks hidden deep within the mechanism.
Mr. Harrison’s confidence began to crack. Sweat formed along his temple. The smirk faded.
The room held its breath.
The only sounds were the ticking of a distant clock… and the faint brush of Jake’s fingers against metal.
Time stretched.
Then—
His fingers stopped.
A moment of complete stillness.
Jake made one final, nearly invisible adjustment.
Click.
The sound was soft, but it echoed like thunder.
The handle shifted.
The door opened slightly.
Gasps filled the room.
Jake opened his eyes, calm as ever. In his hand, he held a simple piece of bent, rusted wire.
That was all.
Mr. Harrison stood frozen, his face drained of color.
“No… that’s impossible!” he snapped suddenly, anger replacing shock. “That doesn’t count! That’s just a display safe!”
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
He pointed toward a large painting on the wall.
“The real one is behind that. That’s the real safe. Try that one if you think you’re so clever.”
The lie was obvious—but his pride was louder than truth.
Jake looked at the painting.