Chapter 6 - The Freefall on Camera
The world tilted violently on its axis as the wheelchair plunged off the edge of the stone terrace. The front casters slammed hard against the grass of the lower garden, the impact sending a jarring shockwave straight up through Clara’s spine and into her bandaged head. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, but she kept her hands locked around the edges of the birthday cake, her fingers digging deep into the white frosting to keep the glowing candles from tipping over.
Marcus screamed, scrambling down the stone steps in a blind panic, his boots tearing chunks of turf away as he chased the runaway chair.
"Clara! Hold on!" Marcus yelled, his voice cracking with raw terror as he grabbed the back of the metal frame and yanked it to a violent stop just inches from the decorative stone koi pond.
The water in the pond rippled violently, reflecting the distorted image of the American flag waving overhead against a sky that was rapidly darkening as heavy storm clouds began to roll in from the west.
Arthur stood at the top of the terrace stairs, looking down like an executioner surveying his handiwork from a castle wall. He didn't run. He didn't panic. He simply adjusted his cuffs and pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping the screen twice with a calm, methodical rhythm.
"You can push me down all the stairs you want, Arthur," Clara said, her voice shaking slightly from the impact, though her eyes burned with an unyielding fire. "The stream is buffered. Every frame of you throwing me down those steps is already stored on three different servers in Zurich."
Arthur’s thumb paused over his screen. For three agonizing seconds, the garden went dead silent, save for the distant rumble of thunder rolling across the suburbs.
"Zurich," Arthur repeated, tasting the word like something foul on his tongue. "You children really thought you could outsmart a foundation with three billion dollars in assets?"
"We didn't have to outsmart you," Marcus panted, dropping to his knees beside the wheelchair to check Clara’s bandages for fresh blood. "We just had to stay alive long enough for the timer to go off."
Clara looked down at the cake in her lap. The frosting was melting slightly from the heat of the candles, and the brown icing spelling out "Happy Birthday" was beginning to blur and run down the sides like dark tears. The battery indicator on the smartphone tripod across the lawn blinked a steady, ominous amber light—ten percent remaining.
"What timer?" Arthur asked, taking a slow step down the stone stairs, his eyes darting toward the distant horizon where the storm clouds were churning into a bruised purple mass.
Clara looked directly into the camera lens, ignoring Arthur entirely, her face bathed in the dying light of the flickering wax.
"The timer that sends the complete financial records to every major news outlet in the country," Clara whispered, her voice trembling as a fresh tear cut through the soot on her cheek. "And it goes off in exactly sixty seconds."
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Arthur lunged down the remaining steps, his face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury as he reached toward the tripod to smash the camera to pieces.
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