The Boy in Front of the Maybach
Chapter 01 - The Boy in Front of the Maybach
The black Maybach had barely begun moving when a barefoot boy threw himself across the driveway.
The driver slammed the brakes. Ethan Blackwood, founder of Blackwood Mobility and one of the richest men in the state, lurched forward in the back seat. His security chief, Nathan Cross, reached for the door before the car had fully stopped.
Outside, the boy pressed both palms against the window. He looked no older than twelve. His hair was tangled, his gray shirt was torn at one shoulder, and dirt streaked his face.
“Don’t drive!” he shouted. “Something is wrong under the wheel!”
Nathan stepped out and seized the boy by the arm. “Move away from the vehicle.”
“I saw someone under it,” the boy insisted. “He had red-handled pliers. Then liquid started leaking.”
Ethan lowered the window. “What kind of liquid?”
The boy looked beneath the rear tire. “Brake fluid. My dad taught me the smell.”
Nathan gave a humorless laugh. “He is trying to distract us so someone else can steal from the house.”
The boy twisted free. “Then check it. If I’m lying, call the police.”
From the mansion’s second-floor balcony, Ethan’s wife, Evelyn, stood frozen with a teacup in her hand. She had watched the boy run through the gate and believed, for one terrible second, that the car would strike him. Now she stared at the dark stain spreading beneath the wheel.
Ethan ordered the driver to shut off the engine.
Nathan objected immediately. Ethan was already late for an emergency board meeting. In less than an hour, he was scheduled to sign a succession agreement that would protect the company during a hostile takeover attempt. His younger cousin and chief financial officer, Julian Vale, had called three times in ten minutes.
“Five minutes,” Ethan said. “We inspect the car.”
The boy dropped to his knees before anyone could stop him. He leaned toward the undercarriage without touching it, then pointed to a thin red wire looped around the brake line.
“That isn’t factory work,” he said.
The driver, Samuel Price, knelt beside him. The color drained from Samuel’s face. A small black device had been fixed behind the wheel well. One end pressed against the brake hose. The other was attached to a wireless receiver.
Nathan reached for it.
“Don’t,” the boy snapped. “It could activate when you move it.”
Everyone turned toward him.
Ethan stepped out of the car. “What is your name?”
“Milo Reyes.”
“And how do you know that?”
May you like
Milo looked up at the mansion, the guards, and the billionaire whose car he had just stopped with his own body.
“Because my father designed devices like that,” he said. “Before somebody made sure he could never talk about them again.”
