The lower bowl of the Crypto Arena was filling with an expectant hum. Press photographers adjusted their lenses. Record label executives and VIP ticket holders settled into their seats.
On stage, Maya adjusted the strap of her acoustic guitar, the spotlight warming her face.
Damon stood near the main sound desk, his eyes darting between Maya and the console. He desperately tried to log into the venue’s master audio override, his fingers flying across a tablet. He had to shut down the microphones if Maya said anything untoward.
Julian Cruz, the lead sound engineer, was focused on adjusting stage monitors, his back to the console.
Behind the mixing console, Toby sat on a road case, his small legs swinging. He had seen Maya hide the silver flash drive, the one with the union arbitration deposition, in her coat pocket.
He reached into the pocket, pulling out the small, shiny drive. With a curious glance at the digital touchscreen console, he plugged it into an open USB port.
The screen flashed, displaying a new file icon. Toby’s eyes widened, drawn by the bright, colorful display.
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