Chapter 3 - A Familiar Face Steps Out of the Private Car
Arthur Vance took another deliberate step forward into the vast expanse of the penthouse living room.
His eyes darted quickly toward the $400,000 exoskeleton resting in its charging dock near the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“It appears the system has experienced a minor synchronization drift,” Arthur continued smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks.
“Nothing our technical team couldn't resolve with a simple software patch and a routine calibration.”
Dr. Mara Voss cleared her throat nervously, clutching her tablet against her chest like a protective shield.
“The telemetry data is encrypted, Mr. Vance,” Dr. Voss noted, her voice trembling slightly.
“How would Veyron monitor an anomaly without local diagnostic access from my medical terminal?”
Arthur didn't even look at her, keeping his gaze locked entirely on Celeste Larkin’s unreadable face.
“We have proprietary background diagnostics running on every machine we deploy, Doctor,” Arthur replied smoothly.
“It’s a standard safety feature included in the premium service contract your foundation signed.”
Boone Halloway watched him quietly from beside the wheelchair, his eyes narrowing into cold, calculating slits.
“That’s a lie,” Boone said softly.
The entire room turned toward the mechanic as if he had just detonated a small explosive device.
Arthur finally glanced at Boone, his expression shifting from corporate charm to thinly veiled contempt.
“Excuse me? And who might you be? An HVAC contractor?” Arthur asked with a patronizing smirk.
“I’m the guy who just listened to your proprietary safety feature grinding itself to pieces under a load,” Boone answered.
Arthur’s smirk vanished completely, replaced by a sharp, defensive edge in his posture.
“You have no authorization to touch that medical device; you’re violating federal device regulations.”
“Federal regulations didn't put four identical inspection reports into a system with different dates,” Boone shot back.
Arthur stiffened, his fingers tightening reflexively around the handle of his slim leather briefcase.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Celeste took two slow, deliberate steps toward Arthur, closing the distance between them like a panther.
“You know exactly what he’s talking about, Arthur,” Celeste whispered, her voice dangerously quiet.
“You signed your name to four separate maintenance logs that contained identical error values.”
Arthur swallowed hard, a tiny bead of sweat forming instantly along his hairline despite the penthouse air conditioning.
“Administrative data cloning happens during cloud backups, Ms. Larkin; it’s a known software glitch.”
“Data cloning doesn't explain why the right knee hinge has a physical scratch from an internal housing failure,” Boone stated.
Arthur turned his entire body toward the mechanic, his professional composure cracking at the seams.
“Listen to me, you grease-monkey nobody—you are interfering in a proprietary medical investigation.”
“I'm just a mechanic,” Boone replied calmly, stepping away from the wheelchair.
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“And I know a coverup when I hear one grinding against a steel bearing.”
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