Mr. Grant stepped out of the Lamborghini slowly.

His hands were no longer steady.

The boy stood beside his fallen bike, dust on his shirt, one hand holding his shoulder, but his eyes never left the driver.

A black sedan pulled up behind the Cybertrucks.

An older man stepped out, calm and furious.

The boy’s father.

Mr. Grant swallowed hard.

“Sir, I didn’t know.”

The chairman walked past him and knelt beside his son.

“Are you hurt?”

The boy shook his head, but his lips trembled.

“You told me to call if he did it again.”

The word again made every guard look at Mr. Grant.

The chairman stood slowly.

“How many times?”

The boy looked at the Lamborghini.

“He speeds here every day. Last week he pushed Mrs. Carter’s dog into the road. Yesterday he screamed at the gardener’s daughter.”

Mr. Grant’s face went pale.

“It was a misunderstanding.”

The boy’s voice stayed quiet.

“No. You only call it that when someone powerful sees you.”

The chairman turned to one of the guards.

A tablet was raised.

Security footage played.

Every near miss.

Every insult.

Every person too scared to speak.

Mr. Grant looked smaller with every second.

The chairman stepped close to him.

“You were hired to protect people.”

Then he looked at his son.

“But a child had to protect this street from you.”

Mr. Grant whispered, “Please.”

The chairman’s voice went cold.

“You’re done.”

The boy lifted his BMX from the road, his hands still shaking.

Before walking away, he looked at the driver and said, “Next time, watch where you’re driving.”