On the tablet, the progress bar slowed.

Ninety-one percent.

“Come on,” I muttered, gripping my father’s sleeve.

Ninety-three percent.

Ethan tapped a final command on the screen.

“Applying the block,” Ethan said.

The progress bar stopped.

The green line turned a sharp, angry red.

*Transfer Terminated. Connection Lost.*

“We got it,” Ethan said, exhaling a long breath. “The download was cut off.”

“Did they get enough to use?” I asked.

“No,” Ethan said. “The file structure requires the final encryption key to open.”

“Without the last ten percent of the data, the files are useless gibberish,” Ethan added.

My father took a deep breath and looked out at the alley.

The police officers were hoisting Martin to his feet.

They were wrapping his hands in plastic zip-ties.

Martin’s expensive suit was ruined, covered in black Columbus mud.

“Daniel, please,” Martin called out, his voice muffled by the rain.

“Talk to them,” Martin begged. “We can settle this.”

My father didn’t answer him.

He looked at the wet blueprints scattered in the puddles.

The officer led Martin away toward the waiting cruiser.