Chapter 1 CONTRACT VIRUS
# CHAPTER 1: CONTRACT VIRUS
Shawn Page's fingers drummed against the polished mahogany conference table as he surveyed the room of one hundred executives, investors, and board members. The Meridian Tower's top floor conference room—his conference room—hummed with anticipation. Today was the culmination of five years of strategic acquisitions, the day PageTech would officially absorb its last significant competitor.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Shawn announced, rising from his leather chair with practiced authority, "the contracts are ready for final review. Once signed, PageTech will control 67% of the global market." He nodded toward his assistant. "Bring up the documents."
The massive wall screen flickered to life as the room fell into respectful silence. Shawn allowed himself a small smile. At thirty-five, he had built an empire worth $27 billion, conquered rivals twice his age, and was about to cement his legacy as the youngest tech mogul to establish a near-monopoly. Nothing could touch him.
The screen flashed blue.
"What's happening?" Shawn hissed at his tech team.
The blue screen pulsed once, twice, then resolved into the contract document—but something was wrong. The text looked different.
Shawn's Chief Legal Officer squinted at the screen. "Is this some kind of joke?"
Where Section 8.4 on Breach of Contract should have listed standard penalties and compensations, the text now read in bold, playful typography:
**"BREACH COMPENSATION: 100 GOOD MORNING KISSES (WITH SOUND EFFECTS)**
**ADDITIONAL PENALTY: 50 PIGGYBACK RIDES AROUND CENTRAL PARK"**
A collective gasp rippled through the room. Someone laughed nervously.
"Fix it. Now," Shawn growled to his technology director, who was frantically typing on his laptop.
"Sir, I can't—the entire system is locked. Someone's in our mainframe."
The screen flickered again, and every instance of "monetary compensation" transformed to "ice cream sundaes," while "intellectual property rights" became "story time privileges."
In the bottom corner of the screen, a small animated pixel art logo appeared—a baby bottle that slowly filled with digital milk.
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"This is impossible," the tech director whispered, his face ashen. "Our security protocols—"
"I don't care about protocols!" Shawn roared. "Who is doing this?"
The room erupted into chaos as investors pulled out phones, board members demanded explanations, and the legal team frantically searched for backup copies of the original contracts.
"Sir!" The security chief burst through the door, tablet in hand. "You need to see this. Now."
The wall screen suddenly switched to live security footage from the building's main lobby. There, perched on a modern white leather sofa, sat a small boy—no older than five—with a chocolate milkshake in one hand. His legs dangled above the floor as he swung them rhythmically, his oversized glasses sliding down his nose. On his wrist, a colorful children's smartwatch glowed with cartoon characters.
The boy looked directly at the security camera and waved.
"Who the hell is that?" Shawn demanded.
The security chief zoomed in on the tablet. "According to facial recognition, sir, his name is Noah. That's all we have."
On screen, Noah casually tapped his smartwatch. Simultaneously, every executive's phone in the conference room chimed with payment notifications.
The tech director's face drained of color. "Sir, someone is transferring funds from our primary accounts. Twenty million dollars... to something called 'Mommy's Happy Fund.'"
The camera feed zoomed in on Noah's watch screen, showing a completed transaction animation with dancing unicorns celebrating the $20M transfer.
"Impossible!" Shawn slammed his fist on the table. "A child's toy can't hack military-grade security!"
"It's not the watch, sir," the tech director said, voice quivering. "The watch is just the interface. Someone's built a sophisticated system behind it, but—" he swallowed hard, "—the commands are definitely coming from that device."
On screen, Noah finished his milkshake with a loud slurp, hopped off the couch, and walked toward the exit, pausing only to high-five the bewildered security guard.
"Detain him!" Shawn barked into his phone.
But as security personnel moved to intercept the child, every electronic door in the building simultaneously locked, trapping the guards in their stations. Noah walked out the front door, turned to wave at another camera, then disappeared into a waiting black car.
Shawn ran his hand through his perfectly styled hair, now damp with sweat. "Find out who he is. Now."
Twenty minutes later, his personal assistant appeared with a tablet. "Sir, we found a connection. The boy appears to be related to a former employee."
Shawn grabbed the tablet and scrolled through personnel files until he stopped cold at a familiar face. Nicole Hawkins—his former head of cybersecurity who had abruptly resigned five years ago. The woman he'd once...
The file photo had been altered. Someone had photoshopped a wedding veil onto Nicole's head. The employment status field had been changed to read: "**CEO's Wife (Escaped)**."
Shawn's blood ran cold as he noticed the creation date on the altered file: today, timestamped just three minutes ago.
"Sir," his assistant whispered, "there's more. We found this in the system archives."
She pulled up a calendar entry from exactly five years and nine months ago. A private meeting between Shawn and Nicole that he'd deleted long ago had been restored and edited. The meeting title now read: "Baby-Making Appointment (Successfully Completed)."
As the room full of executives and investors waited for direction, Shawn stared at the screen, a terrible realization dawning. The timing, the age of the boy, Nicole's sudden disappearance...
"Sir?" his assistant prompted. "What should we tell the investors?"
Shawn's phone pinged with a new message from an unknown number. It contained only a photo—Noah holding a hand-drawn sign reading: "Hi Daddy! Like my homework project?"
