The soft sound of his shoes against marble cut through the room. Conversations died mid-sentence. Heads turned. Confusion spread.
The cleaning boy was walking toward the stage.
Ethan stopped a few feet from Marcus and spoke calmly.
“I can open it.”
Silence.
Then laughter exploded.
Marcus blinked, genuinely amused. “You?” he said. “That’s adorable.”
“I can open it,” Ethan repeated.
Phones came out. People whispered. A viral moment forming.
Marcus straightened. “Alright,” he said. “If the kid opens it, he gets the money. If not—he’s fired.”
The crowd approved. Stakes made it fun.
Ethan nodded and stepped closer.
Up close, the vault reflected his face faintly. He raised his hand over the biometric panel and closed his eyes.
For a moment, the party disappeared.
He remembered a small room. Cold light. A man’s voice behind him:
Locks are just promises, Ethan. And promises can be broken.
His fingers moved—slow, deliberate.
A click.
Then another.
The panel flashed green.
The vault unlocked.
The room froze.
Marcus’s smile faltered.
The door swung open.
Empty.
Confused chatter erupted.
“You didn’t say anything had to be inside,” Ethan said quietly.
Marcus stared at him—not amused anymore. Interested. Threatened.