Chapter 7 - THE FINAL DESTRUCTIONAndrew’s eyes went wide with pure, unadulterated madness. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the black encrypted flash drive, holding it up like a weapon.
“How did you get in here?!” Andrew shrieked. “It doesn't matter! You can’t touch me! I have the master keys! I have seventy million dollars on this drive! The moment this plane lands in Paraguay, I’m going to use this money to destroy you!”
Ethan slowly looked up from his chess game.
“That drive doesn't have seventy million dollars on it, Dad,” Ethan said softly.
Andrew shook the drive wildly in the air. “Shut up, you useless little brat! This is the core server flash drive! I backed it up myself this morning!”
“Yes,” Ethan replied, tilting his head. “But when you plugged it into the kitchen laptop while making coffee three weeks ago, I rewrote the root directory. Every time you tried to save funds to that account, the algorithm automatically re-routed the money into the Sovereign Assets Trust Fund.”
Andrew stood frozen, his arm still raised in the air, his chest heaving up and down. “What... what are you talking about?”
“The drive is empty, Dad,” Ethan said calmly. “Well, not completely empty. There’s one file left on it.”
“What file?!” Andrew screamed.
“A video file,” Ethan said, pointing his small finger toward the large flat-screen TV mounted on the aircraft wall.
Suddenly, the TV screen flickered to life.
It was a full, clear, high-definition recording from three weeks ago—taken in our mansion’s kitchen. On the screen, Andrew was sliding the divorce papers across the table, towering over Ethan, and screaming: “I don’t have a son with such a low IQ! You’re taking the defective child!”
The audio rang through the silent airplane cabin with sickening clarity.
Victoria fell back against the airplane wall, covering her mouth in terror. Andrew’s hands began to shake violently. The black flash drive slipped from his fingers, bouncing off the carpeted floor and rolling right to Ethan’s feet.
Ethan reached down, picked up the drive, and handed it to me.
“You called my son defective, Andrew,” I said, standing up and stepping toward him until we were just inches apart. “You thought because he didn't speak like you, act like you, or share your cruel, arrogant pride, that he was weak. But the truth is, he was simply playing a game on a level you couldn't even comprehend.”
At that exact moment, the heavy boarding doors of the airplane were shoved open from the outside!
A team of eight heavily armed FBI agents flooded into the cabin, rifles drawn, red laser sights illuminating Andrew and Victoria’s chests!
“FEDERAL AGENTS! HANDS IN THE AIR! DON’T MOVE!”
Victoria dropped to her knees immediately, sobbing and screaming, pointing at Andrew. “It was all him! He made me do it! I didn't know about the money laundering! Please don’t shoot!”
Andrew didn't say a word. He stood paralyzed, his eyes locked on Ethan.
As the agents slammed Andrew against the wall and pulled his arms behind his back to snap the metal handcuffs into place, Andrew looked down at his seven-year-old son one last time.
“What... what are you?” Andrew whispered, his voice trembling with genuine terror.
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Ethan looked back at his father with calm, unbothered eyes.
“I’m the boy who counted the blueberries, Dad,” Ethan said quietly. “And you dropped two.”
