Old Pym tapped a spot on the map. "Darren stores all the Cross Particles research data in a dedicated server room on the third basement level."
"And the timing couldn't be better," Pym said, his eyes sharp. "With that insane Ellis New Deal, Darren must be tearing his hair out. He's probably spending every waking moment dealing with federal agents and auditors to protect his assets. He won't have time to worry about company security."
Pym took out a miniature high-explosive charge no bigger than a fingernail.
"We need to use that opening. Hope, put on the suit. When the time comes, all you have to do is..."
While Pym and his daughter discussed the plan...
A few meters away, Darren, shrunk to miniature size, heard every word.
He watched Hope's profile as she focused on discussing how to destroy everything he had built. The last trace of affection he felt for her vanished.
"Bitch... You're just like that old bastard. You've been using me! Betraying me!"
"Boss." A subordinate's voice came through the comms, interrupting Darren's fury.
"We've finished cracking the data. But..." The man hesitated.
"But what?! Did you get the formula?!" Darren asked under his breath.
"No, sir. The server... it's empty."
"Empty?"
"Yes, sir. There's no formula for Pym Particles and no experiment logs. Most of the data has been wiped, and we can't recover it."
Darren turned toward Old Pym.
He understood now.
The old bastard was cautious to a fault. He had kept no paper records and stored nothing on any server.
It was all in his head! Every time he synthesized Pym Particles, he erased every record.
Now the spacious laboratory held only the finished red vials on the table and a heap of cold synthesis equipment.
Without the formula, taking the finished