Chapter 4

Elias Vance. The name echoed in the silent apartment. He was my father's friend. A ghost from a past I never knew, standing on my doorstep at the lowest moment of my life. He looked at my tear-streaked face and the broken drone parts in my hand, and his expression softened with understanding.

"I think we should talk," he said.

He helped me clean up the mess, his movements calm and deliberate. He spoke about my father, not as the paranoid recluse my mother described, but as a brilliant, principled man who made powerful enemies. Elias was part of that same world, the underground community of hackers and digital activists my father had belonged to. He had been keeping an eye on me from a distance, respecting my father's wish for my privacy, until he saw what Mark was doing.

"Your father always said you had the gift," Elias told me, his voice a low rumble. "The instinct for how systems work. Mark Patterson isn't just a thief, Chloe. He's a reckless fool playing with technology he doesn't understand. He's a danger."

I listened, a new kind of strength blooming in my chest. I wasn't alone anymore. I had an ally. As he talked, an idea, audacious and terrifying, began to form in my mind.

"Elias," I said, interrupting him. "I need more than just stories. I need your help. I want to build something. A digital art installation. One that will go viral. But it won't just be art. It will be a weapon. I want to propose a partnership."

Elias looked at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. He wasn't surprised. He seemed to have been waiting for this.

"I accept," he said without a moment's hesitation. There was no negotiation, no question of what was in it for him. He saw the fire in my eyes and recognized the same fight that had driven my father. "What do you need?"

Our partnership was sealed not with a handshake, but with a shared schematic on a laptop screen. Elias provided the resources: secure servers, untraceable connections, access to a network of other "ghosts" in the machine who despised corporate greedheads like Mark. It was an engagement of a different kind, a commitment to a shared cause. The "dowry" he brought was a wealth of knowledge and access. In return, I began to plan my "gift" for him. It wasn't jewelry or property. It was data. Specifically, a beautifully crafted, encrypted file containing all the evidence of Mark's theft, Sarah's complicity, and the financial irregularities I was already beginning to uncover in Genesis Arts' accounts. It was the key to their destruction, and I would give it to Elias to release when the time was right.

A week later, I had to go to a specialty electronics store downtown to pick up a rare processing chip Elias had sourced for me. As I paid at the counter, I heard their voices. Mark and Sarah. They were at the other end of the store, looking at high-end smart home displays. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced myself to remain calm.

"Look at this, Mark," Sarah was saying, pointing at a sleek wall panel. "We should have this in every room of the new house."

Mark laughed, a sound that now grated on my nerves. "Whatever you want, darling. We can afford it."

He saw me then. His smile faltered for a second before morphing into a look of smug pity. He walked over, with Sarah trailing behind him like a shadow.

"Chloe," he said, his voice dripping with false concern. "Shopping for parts? Still tinkering with your little toys, I see."

He was trying to belittle me, to remind me of what he did to Glitch. Sarah smirked, looking at the simple bag in my hand.

"How sweet," she said. "Is that a present for your new friend? The old man?"

They knew about Elias. Of course they did. They must have been watching me. They thought he was just some lonely old man I'd befriended. They had no idea who he really was. They saw my project bag and assumed it was some pathetic, homemade gift.

"Something like that," I said, my voice neutral. I held up the small, sealed anti-static bag containing the processor. "It's a gift. A promise of things to come."

Mark chuckled, completely misinterpreting my words. He thought I was making a desperate, romantic gesture. "Well, don't let us keep you. I'm sure he'll love whatever it is."

He took Sarah's arm, proprietary and proud, and began to steer her away. As he turned, he suddenly staggered. He put a hand to his head, his face paling.

"Mark?" Sarah asked, her voice sharp with alarm. "Are you okay?"

He swayed on his feet, his eyes unfocused. "I just... I feel dizzy," he mumbled. He leaned heavily against a display rack, his breathing shallow.

Then, with a shocking suddenness, he collapsed. His body hit the polished concrete floor with a heavy, final-sounding thud. He didn't move. He just lay there, unconscious, in the middle of the bright, sterile store.