Chapter 7 - The Unscripted Interruption
In a room full of media executives, security guards, and corporate handlers, a twelve-year-old boy walking down the main carpet usually wouldn't attract attention. But Julian wasn't just any boy.
A camera operator from a local news affiliate turned his lens to track Julian’s approach, noticing the dirt on his clothes and the bruised, rag-clothed child walking beside him. Within seconds, another camera turned. Then three more.
Richard Vance was in the middle of taking a question from a senior financial reporter when his eyes drifted over the heads of the crowd and landed on his son.
The million-dollar smile on Richard's face faltered. A subtle twitch appeared at the corner of his left eye.
"Julian?" Richard said into the microphone, his voice carrying over the public address system, punctuated by a strange, hollow echo. "What... what are you doing out here, son? Where is your mother?"
The room fell silent. Hundreds of heads turned in unison to look down the central aisle.
Julian didn't stop until he reached the base of the wooden stage, staring up at his father from beneath the bright halogen studio lights. The heat from the lamps was intense, bringing out the smell of rain and old copper from Julian’s clothes.
"Mom is upstairs, Dad," Julian said, his voice quiet, yet picked up clearly by the boom microphones dangling above the stage. "She's with Benson."
Richard’s expression hardened, his corporate warmth evaporating like mist over a hot engine. He leaned over the podium, dropping his voice into a low tone that he thought wouldn't be picked up by the audio feeds. "Julian, get off the floor. Take that dirty kid to the holding room immediately. You're making a scene."
"His name is Leo Miller," Julian said loudly.
A collective gasp rippled through the front row of the press gallery.
Several investigative journalists who had covered the local news over the past three months immediately recognized the name. Notebooks were whipped open; digital recorders were raised higher.
"Julian, that's enough!" Richard snapped, pushing himself away from the podium and stepping down off the stage toward his son. He reached out a heavy, polished hand to grab Julian’s shoulder. "We are going to the green room now."
Julian didn't back away. He raised his right hand, holding the black metallic drive directly in front of his father's face.
"This is the encrypted research file from Pine Street, Dad," Julian said, his voice echoing off the high marble walls of the lobby. "The one Arthur Miller died for."
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Richard froze mid-stride, his hand hovering six inches from Julian’s shoulder.
The silence in the grand lobby was so absolute that the sound of rain tapping against the high glass dome above sounded like a roar.
