Chapter 7 - Boone Intercepts the Technician With a Raw Mechanical Truth
The heavy steel doors of the private elevator remained wedged open by Boone’s heavy mechanic's wrench.
Arthur Vance stood trapped between billionaire wrath, federal investigators, and an unforgiving mechanic.
“You’re ruining a brilliant piece of engineering over a minor manufacturing anomaly,” Arthur whispered desperately.
“Brilliant engineering doesn't require forged paperwork to hide a backward thrust bearing,” Boone said, stepping forward.
Boone walked past Celeste and stopped right in front of the sweating Veyron executive.
“You want to know why I knew it was installed backward the second I heard that click?” Boone asked quietly.
Arthur glared at him, too proud and too terrified to offer a verbal response.
“Because I worked assembly lines in Detroit for ten years before I started wrenching on commercial lifts,” Boone explained.
“I've seen assembly plants where management pushes quotas so high the workers have to flip parts to make them fit.”
“That’s an absurd conspiracy theory,” Arthur spat out through clenched teeth.
“No, suit, that’s standard corporate cost-cutting disguised as advanced medical innovation,” Boone corrected him.
“You saved forty dollars on a custom-milled collar and spent four hundred thousand dollars selling it to a mother.”
Celeste’s eyes flashed with a lethal intensity as Boone’s words laid bare the sheer cynicism of Veyron’s operation.
“Forty dollars,” Celeste repeated, tasting the words like poison on her tongue.
“My daughter’s physical rehabilitation was compromised to save forty dollars per unit.”
Arthur took a nervous step backward, pressing his spine firmly against the wood-paneled wall behind him.
“Inflationary pressures on raw titanium alloys forced us to evaluate alternate manufacturing suppliers—”
“Shut up, Arthur,” Celeste commanded, her voice dropping into a tone that brooked zero argument.
“Every single word you speak from this point forward is simply increasing the length of your prison sentence.”
Dr. Mara Voss sank slowly onto a plush velvet armchair, burying her face in her trembling hands.
“I trusted their clinical trial data,” Dr. Voss whispered to herself in utter despair.
“I defended their equipment to every specialist who questioned why Piper wasn't progressing.”
Piper looked over at the doctor, feeling a strange wave of empathy wash over her own burning anger.
“You trusted the wrong people, Mara,” Piper said softly, her voice remarkably steady.
“Just like I did.”
Before Dr. Voss could reply, the heavy thump of heavy boots echoed from the open elevator shaft below.
Federal marshals in tactical vests and New York State troopers emerged onto the penthouse landing.
The lead officer, a weathered federal marshal with silver hair, stepped into the living room and surveyed the scene.
“Ms. Larkin?” the marshal asked, nodding respectfully toward Celeste.
“Agent Miller,” Celeste replied, gesturing toward the executive trapped against the wall.
“That is Arthur Vance, Director of Quality Assurance at Veyron Adaptive Mobility.”
Agent Miller pulled a pair of steel handcuffs from his tactical belt and stepped toward the terrified executive.
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“Arthur Vance, you are under arrest for federal mail fraud, healthcare conspiracy, and document falsification.”
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