The boy nodded slowly. “It’s money my mother and I will never see in our lifetimes. Money that buys buildings, companies, power. Money that makes sure people like us stay exactly where we are.”
The room stilled for a heartbeat. Victor recovered quickly, clapping once. “Precisely. It’s the kind of money that separates gods from insects.”
One of the men—Elliot Voss, a hedge-fund predator—muttered, “He’s sharper than he looks.”
Victor ignored him, patting the vault like a favored dog. “This is a Helios-Titan, custom from Zurich. Three-point-eight million dollars. Biometric, quantum-resistant encryption, rotating codes. No one opens it without me. So why offer the money? Because it’s impossible. Because watching you fail will be delicious.”
The boy tilted his head. “If it’s truly impossible, then there’s zero risk you’ll ever have to pay. So this isn’t a real offer. It’s cruelty dressed up as a game.”
The laughter died instantly. The tycoons shifted uncomfortably. The child had named the evil out loud.
Victor’s smile tightened. “A brain in a street rat. How novel. Education costs money you’ll never have.”
“My father said the opposite,” the boy answered quietly.