He couldn’t see who Ellis was speaking to; they were hidden by the open gate that normally fenced off the dumpsters.

“…most lucrative thing imaginable,” the unseen voice–deep, male–was saying. “College-age programmers have given rise to the greatest economic engines of your generation. Jobs, Gates, Fanning, Zuckerberg…Ellis Vandemuir could be one of those names.”

“We’re well past the Steve Jobs part of this whole thing,” Ellis said. “You’ve seen it work; what you really need is the code. I’m still thinking about that part. What’s your offer?”

“Offer?” The unseen speaker seemed amused. “What makes you think there’ll be an offer?”

“Why did you call me out here for this penny-ante James Bond bullshit?” Ellis demanded.

There was no reply, but Sandra could see the shadows on a nearby brick wall shift from her hiding spot.

“Holy shit!” Ellis cried. “Look, we can talk this over. I can make-”

The unmistakable report of a suppressed gunshot cut him off.