Chapter 6 :Elon Musk Wants to See You

Seven p.m.

The kitchen hummed with chaos—spices hung heavy in the air, mingling with the sizzle of frying oil. Pots clanged, pans hissed, a symphony of heat and hustle. Justin Maddox leaned over a cutting board, his knife flashing through the last dish with practiced precision.

Jessica slipped through the swinging door, her expression a tangle of curiosity and unease. "

Justin, two guys want to see you." She nodded toward the dining area.Justin's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"Don't know them," Jessica said. "Look like out-of-towners."

He glanced at the head chef, his eyes seeking permission. The chef met his gaze, gave a curt nod. Justin set down his knife, washed his hands in a rush, and wiped them dry, the towel catching the last glints of water. He followed Jessica out, his pulse ticking up.

She leaned close, her voice a whisper. "The one in the black suit? Might be a cop."

Justin's heart jolted. "How do you know?"

"Spoon dropped," she murmured, lips barely moving. "When he bent to grab it, I saw a gun." She shot him a teasing glance. "You in trouble again?"

He shook his head, firm. "Hell no. I've been clean since I got back to Kerrville."

Doubt gnawed at him, a quiet dread coiling in his gut. No running from this. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and strode toward the corner table Jessica pointed out, each step heavier than the last. Two men sat there, their eyes scanning the room like predators.

Jessica's whisper had been right. The man in the black suit, maybe mid-thirties, had a chiseled face and eyes sharp as a hawk's, impossible to dodge. A cop, no question. The other, older—forty-something, sleek suit, hair impeccably combed—looked like he'd stepped out of a boardroom, all polish and control.

"Justin Maddox?" the black-suited man said first, his voice low, commanding.

Justin nodded, mouth dry, words caught in his throat. Before he could speak, the older man cut in. "Sit."

His tone was calm but carried an edge of authority. He stood, pulling a nearby chair with a fluid motion.

Justin waved it off. "I got it." He dragged the chair himself, forcing calm as he sat, though his nerves buzzed. "Who are you?"

The black-suited man leaned forward. "Ronan Voss, FBI Special Agent in Charge."

FBI?

Justin's heart slammed against his ribs. What the hell did I step into?

His fingers fidgeted, brushing the edge of his chef's coat."Easy," the older man said, offering a hand with a disarming smile. "Jared John Burchall. CEO of a few companies, board member of others. Most folks just call me Elon Musk's right hand."

Justin froze, shaking the man's hand on autopilot. "Who?"

Burchall's smile widened, slow and deliberate. "Elon… Musk."

"Elon Musk?" Justin's mind reeled, the name a thunderclap. It clicked. Starship One. They were here about the explosion—his video, his dream.

He barely registered releasing Burchall's hand, his earlier shock betraying him. "You think I blew up Starship One?" His voice wavered, edged with panic.

Voss and Burchall exchanged a glance, then burst out laughing.

"Justin, you think you could take down Starship One?" Voss said, shaking his head, still chuckling. "That's rich."

Their easy amusement loosened the knot in Justin's chest. Okay, not that. He exhaled. "Then why are you here?"

Burchall's smile faded, his tone turning serious. "It's not us who want you. It's Elon Musk."

Justin's breath caught. "What?"

Elon Musk, the world's richest man, tech titan, wanted to meet him? His mind raced, a storm of disbelief and adrenaline.

"Why?" Justin pressed. "What's this about?"

"Your latest video,"

Burchall said, his voice steady. "The solar storm."

"The G6?" Justin's pulse quickened.

Burchall nodded, a glint in his eye. "Details come when you meet him."

Justin's thoughts churned. Musk must've seen his Starship One prediction—nailed it, months ago. Now the G6 video, the solar storm prophecy, had caught his eye. A billionaire wanting to verify a YouTuber's dreams? It was insane. But a chance like this? No way he'd pass it up.

He leaned back, feigning nonchalance. "And if I say no?"

Voss's face hardened, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Justin Maddox, twenty-five. Three years in New York. Two arrests—street brawl, then heroin possession."

Justin's excitement evaporated, anger flaring. "What's your point?" This bastard had dug into his past.

Voss's voice was ice. "Point is, a punk like you? I've got a hundred ways to send you back to a cell."

"Shut the fuck up!" Justin shot to his feet, his shout cutting through the restaurant. Every head turned, forks frozen mid-bite, eyes locked on him.

"Cool it," Burchall said, tugging Justin's arm. "He's screwing with you."

Justin scanned the room, the stares pinning him. He sank back into the chair, jaw tight.

Burchall shot Voss a look. "No more games. He might be one of us, you know—club material."

Voss shot Justin a glare. "I know. Otherwise, the moment he opened his damn mouth, I would've had my gun to his skull."

Justin ignored him, latching onto Burchall's words. "Club? What club?"

Burchall's lips curved into a cryptic smile. "You'll see when you meet Elon." He paused, leaning forward. "So, what's it gonna be?"