If I had known that the "Instant Dream Machine" was, in reality, just a pile of rusty gears held together with duct tape, I would have run back to the police and personally apologized to Inspector Grant.

  But now, it's too late.

  I eye Hector warily as he proudly shows off his outlandish creation. We're in a damp, dark warehouse, tucked away in the back of an abandoned workshop in the Factory District. The place smells of rust, steam, and unfulfilled promises—just the kind of place that suits me.

  — Does this thing even work? — I ask, staring suspiciously at the machine that looks like a cross between an oven, a broken cart, and a guitar split in half.

  — Of course not! — Hector responds, irritated. — But no one needs to know that, right? That's where you come in.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  I let out a deep sigh. Apparently, my role in the group was to convince people that this was a revolutionary innovation.

  — Got it. You want me to sell the idea to some rich sucker?

  — Exactly, my dear Felix. And I know the perfect sucker.

  The word "sucker" catches my attention.

  — And who would this perfect victim be?

  Hector grins widely, a sinister look on his face.

  — Lord Albert Foggins. He's filthy rich, obsessed with useless inventions, and has less brains than a broken wall clock.

  I start to feel a chill in my stomach. Lord Foggins isn't just rich. He's the type of man who, if upset, could make the police look like a joke.

  — And how do you plan to make him fall for this?

  — With you, my friend. With your charming voice, he'll believe anything you tell him.

  I look back at the machine, still uncertain. Up close, the contraption looks even more absurd. But Hector stares at me like he's already won, and I have nowhere to go. After all, if it doesn't work, I can always run again. I'm practically a professional athlete at this point.

  I take a deep breath, adjust my poorly mended tie, and smile:

  — Alright. Let's scam an aristocrat then.

  Because, really, what could go wrong?