Now, in the study, Malachi rested his fingertips against the cool metal dial.
The specialists watched him with varying degrees of disbelief.
Paige stood near the door, her hands clasped tightly together.
Wells crossed his arms.
“Well?” he demanded. “Are you going to open it, or should I call your mother to collect you?”
Malachi took a slow breath.
He was frightened.
He was also certain.
He turned the dial left.
One complete rotation.
Two.
Three.
He continued through the fourth rotation, counting the numbers as they passed beneath the indicator.
Then he stopped at forty-seven.
The room remained silent.
Malachi turned right.
He completed the first rotation, continued through the second, and stopped at twenty-three.
A technician leaned forward.
Malachi turned left, passed through one full rotation, and stopped at ninety-one.
Wells's expression changed.
The boy's movements were too precise to be random.
Malachi turned right.
The dial passed twelve.
Thirteen.
Fourteen.
Fifteen.
He stopped.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then a deep metallic click sounded from inside the safe.
Malachi withdrew his hand.
The heavy door shifted outward by a fraction of an inch.
Nobody spoke.
Wells stared at the door as if it had opened by magic.
Malachi reached for the handle.
“May I?” he asked.
The billionaire did not answer.
So Malachi gently pulled.
The Waldis Ultra swung open.
Inside lay stacks of cash, envelopes, documents, and rows of neatly arranged financial records.
The safe had opened.
In less than sixty seconds.
The gray-haired specialist whispered something under his breath.
Another man removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
Paige pressed both hands over her mouth.
Malachi looked into the vault, then back at Wells.
“That's the combination you used, sir.”
Wells stared at him.
The boy had done what four specialists had failed to accomplish in six days.
He had done it without tools, without force, and without damaging the mechanism.
And he had done it while the billionaire watched.
For the first time since Malachi had entered the mansion as a small child, Wells Stevenson had no immediate insult ready.
Then his eyes narrowed.
“How did you know those numbers?”
Malachi answered honestly.
“I remembered watching you open it.”
Wells looked toward Paige.
“You let your son watch me?”
“No, sir,” she replied quickly. “He must have seen you by accident.”
“By accident?”
“Yes, sir.”
Wells turned back to the safe.
The open door revealed his wealth, but it also revealed something else.
The combination had never been written down.
Nobody else was supposed to know it.
Yet a child had remembered it after seeing it only once.
Wells felt an unfamiliar sensation settle beneath his ribs.
Not gratitude.
Not admiration.
Fear.
Because the boy's accomplishment suggested that his most expensive security system had failed to protect him from something he had never considered.
A human mind.
And if Malachi could remember the combination, he might also remember what else he had seen.
Wells looked at the child standing beside the open vault.
“Everyone out,” he ordered.
The specialists began collecting their instruments.
Paige took Malachi's hand.
But before they reached the door, Wells spoke again.
“Not you, boy.”
Malachi stopped.
Wells closed the safe himself, turned the dial, and faced the child.
“Sit down. We need to have a conversation.”
For the first time in his life, Malachi realized that solving a problem did not necessarily mean the danger was over.
Sometimes it meant the danger had only just begun.
Wells did not invite people to sit in his study.
He instructed them.
There was a difference, and everyone who worked for him understood it.
“Sit,” he repeated, pointing toward a leather chair beside the fireplace.
Malachi obeyed.
Paige remained standing.
“Mr. Stevenson, my son has done nothing wrong.”
“I didn't say he had.”
“You told everyone to leave except him.”
“And now you're going to tell me how to manage my own house?”
Paige lowered her eyes.
“No, sir.”
Wells walked behind his desk and opened a drawer. He removed a folder, placed it before him, and studied Malachi with an expression the boy could not interpret.
“How old are you?”
“Ten, sir.”
“School?”
“Jefferson Elementary.”
“Grades?”
“Mostly A's.”
“Mostly?”
“I got a B in physical education.”
Wells blinked.
Then, despite himself, he almost smiled.
“Physical education.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Apparently, even geniuses have limitations.”
Malachi did not know whether that was meant as a joke.
He said nothing.
Wells leaned back.
“Tell me exactly how you remembered the combination.”
Malachi explained what had happened six nights earlier. He described standing in the hallway, hearing Wells speak aloud, and seeing the sequence of movements.
He did not embellish the story.
He did not claim to understand the locking mechanism.
He had simply remembered the numbers.
When he finished, Wells tapped one finger against the desk.
“You saw it once?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And remembered everything?”
“Yes.”
“Even the rotations?”
“Yes.”
“Even the direction?”
“Yes, sir.”
Wells rose and walked toward the safe.
“Do you know what happens if someone makes a mistake with a mechanism like this?”
“No, sir.”
“You could damage it. You could jam the lock. You could cause a great deal of trouble.”
“I was careful.”
“Careful?”
Wells turned sharply.
“You're a child. Children aren't supposed to be operating equipment that costs more than a house.”
Malachi felt his confidence shrink.
“I only did what you asked.”
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Wells stared.
Paige went rigid.
For one terrible moment, Malachi thought he had made a mistake.
Then Wells laughed.
“Fair enough.”
He returned to his desk and pressed a button on the intercom.
“Bring me the specialists' reports.”
A secretary responded that she would send them immediately.
Wells disconnected.
Then he opened another drawer and removed a thick envelope.
“Your performance was impressive,” he said. “I'll admit that.”
Malachi glanced at his mother.
She looked wary.
Wells continued.
“But we need to discuss the reward.”
The boy's heart began to pound.