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From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 175. Unexpected Face
Ivy explained to her aunt that she had discovered an embezzlement scheme within her company—one that led directly back to their own family. Her voice trembled as she spoke of the financial records she’d uncovered, the falsified invoices, the offshore accounts... and how, to her disbelief, her own grandmother and uncle were tangled in the corruption. What began as a quiet suspicion had grown into a storm of secrets. Ivy recounted the long nights, the whispers, the close calls. She told her aunt how she had nearly died—more than once—while chasing the truth. Someone hadn’t wanted her to find it. Her aunt listened in silence, her face pale but unreadable. When Ivy finally stopped speaking, there was a long pause. “The Wilson family,” her aunt said slowly, “has always had its darkness. But I never thought it ran this deep.” Ivy sat back, exhausted. Her hands trembled as she held her glass of water, trying to steady her nerves. Her aunt continued, her voice low and brittle with memory.
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 176. New Plan
Ivy sat at the head of the table, her fingers interlocked as she stared down at the folder Elias had placed in front of her. The room was quiet, thick with tension, like the moment before a storm breaks. Van leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while Ivy’s aunt sat beside her, eyes locked on Elias. No one quite trusted him yet—not fully—but the truth he carried was too valuable to ignore. “This,” Elias said, tapping the folder, “is everything I’ve collected in the last two years. Bank statements, shell company registrations, falsified contracts. All of it leads back to Richard Wilson and, unfortunately, to other family members—some dead, some still very much alive.” Ivy hesitated before opening it. The last time she’d opened a file like this, it had nearly gotten her killed. “This isn't just about your company, madam Ivy,” Elias continued. “Richard’s reach was broader than you think. He used Wilson Enterprises as a laundering hub—for dirty money, offshore investments, even human
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 177. War
The boardroom at Greyson & Co. was sleek, minimalistic, and designed to intimidate. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in cold, natural light. Ivy sat at one end of the long, black marble table, dressed in soft gray—neutral, calm, disarming. Van sat beside her, hands clasped, playing the role of her financial advisor. Across from them were three representatives from the prospective buyer, Sondrix Ventures. They were everything she expected—sharp suits, sharper smiles. Eager. Confident. Completely unaware they were walking into a house of cards. “We’re excited about the potential here,” said Miranda Kane, Sondrix’s lead negotiator. “JK Enterprises has history, brand equity, and assets in motion. We think we can scale it within six months.” Ivy gave a polite smile. “I’m sure you can. I just don’t have the heart for it anymore.” Van stepped in smoothly. “Ms. Wilson is transitioning into private ventures. She’s agreed to stay on for a brief handover—thirty days, limited invo
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 178. Elias
Flashback Two years earlier.The rain had been relentless that night—cold, insistent, and loud enough to mask the sound of approaching footsteps.Elias Grant stood alone in his office at JK Enterprises, the screen of his laptop casting a soft glow across his face. Financial reports, transaction logs, security footage timestamps—all of it laid bare in front of him. He had finally seen enough.He had been CFO for six years. Long enough to earn the family's trust, long enough to know which stones not to turn. But curiosity was a dangerous thing.Especially in a family like the Wilsons.The numbers hadn’t added up for months. Offshore payments disguised as consulting fees. A Cayman shell company with a fake board. Richard Wilson’s name never appeared directly—but his fingerprints were all over the transactions.Elias had started to put together a private dossier. He never told Ivy. Not yet. She was too close, too vulnerable. And he didn’t trust the board—or anyone else.That night, he co
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 179. Missing
Moses sat in his office, the steady ticking of the antique clock on the wall matching the rhythm of his thoughts. He stared at the documents sprawled across his desk, none of which made any sense anymore. The Hartley meeting had been a disaster—he didn't expect things to escalate that much. But he wasn't even botherd that much by it, what he was more concerned about was the fact that since that day, Bianca had disappeared from his life like a ghost retreating into the shadows.He hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t heard from her. Not a call. Not a text. Not even one of those curt voice notes she used to send when she was annoyed with him but still too fond to stay silent. The silence was deafening, and more than anything, it was suspicious.Bianca’s parents, especially her mother, were not ones to sit back and allow things to fall apart without putting up a fight. If her mother hadn't already tried to "talk sense into her,"as she would put it,then the world had surely turned upside down."Wha
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 180. The Chase
The headlights behind them hadn’t wavered for miles. Ivy tightened her grip on the steering wheel, trying to keep her breathing steady as she turned onto a quieter side street. The car behind them turned too. Her heart skipped. Once could be coincidence. Twice… She stole a glance at the rearview mirror. The vehicle maintained a steady distance, close enough to keep them in sight, far enough not to alarm casual onlookers.“Elias, I think we’re being followed,” she said quietly. Elias immediately snapped his head toward her. “What?”“I think they’ve been on us since the main highway. I tried to shake them a few turns back, but they’re still there.” she explained. His face drained of color. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling. “It’s them. It has to be. Ivy, if they catch us—”“They won’t,” she said firmly, although her voice cracked on the last word. She pulled the car over and let a black SUV speed past—only to have it slow down a block ahead and pull over too. Confirmed
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 181. A Mafia Lord?
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a dimly lit corridor lined with glass-walled offices. Van’s was at the end, a deep black door keeping the contents behind it a mystery. Elias was the one who knocked on the door and when Ivy saw the person who opened it, her face contorted into a frown. The lady standing before her was dressed in a black fitted mini dress that outlined the curves and edges of her body well. In Ivy's opinion, the dress was much too short and too revealing to wear to work, so she concluded that she wasn't a staff. “Are you coming in?” She asked and Ivy realized she had been staring. Smiling politely, she walked into the large office with Elias following right behind her. It didn't take long before she spotted Van, he stood by window with his back turned to them. Even without seeing his face, it wasn't hard to tell that Van was a very attractive man. He was on the phone, and judging by the way he was waving his arm around, Ivy suspected that h
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 182. More Secrets
“What?” Ivy thought she didn't hear him correctly. “It's okay. It's safe.” That was the only explanation he gave as he grabbed his jacket and headed out. They drove down the highway for a while before he swirled off to a street that Ivy had never been to. She thought about about saying something to lighten up the mood but eventually decided against it. They drove through the unfamiliar neighborhood for about thirty minutes before he parked in front of a simple looking building. On the door of the building, a ‘keep away’ sign was hanged, but of course it didn't keep Van from pushing the foor open. It was stark, utilitarian, but something about it felt like a bunker. A safe haven in a war zone.The three of them walked in, with Van leading. Seated on the couch was a dark skinned man with a cigarette in his mouth. “You weren’t followed?” he asked immediately.“I don’t think so,” Van said. “I was very careful on the way.”The man nodded, ushering them inside. “Lock the door behind
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220. The Raid
The black SUV tore through the city streets, weaving between cars and running red lights.Rain slapped against the windshield in heavy sheets, turning the world into a blur of lights and shadows.Van sat in the passenger seat, jaw tight, fingers tapping a restless rhythm on his knee.Beside him, Keller drove like a man possessed, silent and focused.Carla sat in the back, double-checking the blueprints of the warehouse on her tablet."Franklin and Third," she muttered."Two floors. Old textile plant. Abandoned for years. No security cameras, no neighbors — perfect place to stash someone."Van’s stomach twisted.It was too perfect.He kept flashing back to Vance’s words: If they think you’re coming, they’ll move her—or worse.He couldn't afford to think about what worse meant.Not now.Not when they were this close.They arrived in less than fifteen minutes.The warehouse loomed out of the mist like a dead thing — gray, crumbling, windows shattered, rust eating through the metal doors.
219. Confession
The air inside the van was thick with tension.Julian Vance sat slumped against the wall, wrists cuffed to a metal ring bolted to the floor.The blindfold was gone, but fear had carved deep lines into his face.Sweat soaked through his shirt despite the cold night air.Across from him, Van leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, studying him like a puzzle that needed solving.Keller sat beside Van, silent and looming, while Carla hovered near the door, tablet in hand, recording everything.No one spoke for a long moment.They let the fear do its work first.Vance fidgeted, his eyes darting from face to face, looking for a crack, a kindness.He found none.Finally, Keller broke the silence."You know who we are," he said calmly."You know why you’re here."Vance licked his lips."I—I’m just an accountant," he stammered."I don’t know anything."Keller smiled thinly."You know enough to get yourself killed. Or saved. Your choice."Vance’s hands twisted in the cuffs."I can’t," he whisper
218. The Aftermath
The night was soaked in the heavy stench of gunpowder and rain.Sirens howled in the distance — getting closer — but Agent Keller’s team moved fast.They swept the abandoned lot, securing what little evidence Moses had left behind: a few casings, tire tracks gouged deep into the mud, a broken phone.It wasn’t enough.Moses had disappeared like a phantom into the night, and worse — he had seen through the setup.Van had barely made it out alive.Inside the mobile command van, Keller slammed his fist against the table."Someone tipped him off," he growled."There’s no way he walked into that meeting with backup unless he knew we were coming."Carla sat beside Van, wrapping a makeshift bandage around his bleeding arm.Her hands were steady, but her face was grim.Van winced as the gauze tightened, but he barely felt the pain.His mind was somewhere else.A traitor.Someone inside their circle.Someone who had sold them out to Moses.Keller paced furiously, barking orders into his radio,
217. The Hunt
The plan was simple on paper.Simple, but dangerous.Van stood at the cracked concrete window of a forgotten motel room on the edge of the city, watching the rain smear the world into gray blurs.Inside the room, Agent Keller was setting up equipment — laptops, burner phones, tiny recorders the size of coins — while Carla scribbled notes furiously into a weathered notebook.Van’s nerves hummed under his skin.He wasn’t a cop.He wasn’t a spy.He was just a man trying to survive.And now, somehow, he was about to help bring down one of the most powerful men in the city."Here’s the plan," Keller said, pulling Van’s attention back.He laid out a rough blueprint of the next 48 hours:Van would reach out to Moses — casual, non-threatening — suggest a meeting under the pretense of "burying the hatchet."Offer him information.Play on his paranoia.The idea was to draw Moses out.Get him somewhere isolated.Somewhere they could grab him without witnesses.If they could catch Moses talking —
216. Warehouse Meeting
Van’s mind was spinning as he approached the dilapidated warehouse by the docks.The wind whipped at his coat, the sound of waves crashing against the concrete pier mixing with the distant hum of city traffic.This place had once been a hub of activity, a center of trade and industry.Now, it was just a hollow skeleton, abandoned and forgotten.Perfect.It was the kind of place where you could disappear without a trace.Van approached cautiously, his footsteps echoing in the empty street.The docks were deserted at this hour, save for a few stray cats rummaging through trash.No sign of anyone watching.But he knew better than to assume that meant safety.They were out there.Someone was always watching.His fingers brushed against the rough stone of the warehouse’s exterior as he rounded the corner.A single light flickered above the entrance, casting long, crooked shadows.A thick metal door was ajar, just enough to let him slip inside.Van hesitated for a moment, then pushed it ope
215. Late Warning
The city looked different in the dead of night.From the back of the taxi, Van saw it all pass in a blur — the glimmering skyline, the fog rolling across the river, the endless rows of apartments stacked up like cheap cardboard boxes.But it was the shadows he saw most clearly.The places where people hid their sins.Van rubbed his fingers over the cracked screen of Bianca’s phone.The evidence was still fresh in his mind — too fresh. The videos, the photos, the recordings.He hadn’t even begun to process it all.But he couldn’t stop now.He couldn’t let them win.The taxi rolled to a stop at the airport’s long-term parking lot.Van didn’t get out.Instead, he stared through the windshield at the flickering terminal lights, his thoughts spiraling.Was this it?Was he about to leave everything behind?Ivy, the kids, his life as he knew it?He couldn’t.He wouldn’t.But he also couldn’t stay.He needed allies.Van stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver in cash before walking throug
214. Secrets
Van didn’t go straight home. He knew better. If they were watching him — and after tonight, he was sure of it — bringing danger to Ivy and the kids would be unforgivable. Instead, he drove to a cheap motel on the edge of town, the kind of place nobody asked questions and the cameras were either broken or faked. The neon VACANCY sign buzzed weakly against the rain-soaked sky as Van pulled into the lot. Room 12 smelled like mold and old cigarettes, but it had a lock on the door and curtains thick enough to block the world out. For now, that was enough. He locked the door, jammed a chair under the knob, and dumped the soaked backpack on the stained mattress. He pulled out Bianca’s phone with trembling hands. Still wet. Still cracked. Still hers. Van sat down heavily and got to work. First step: dry the phone. He stripped it carefully, removing the battered SIM card and the microSD tucked into the side. Both small enough to fit in his wallet. He left the phone shell near
213. Hidden Tunnels
The marina was deserted. The storm had driven everyone indoors, and the usual hum of yacht engines and tourist chatter was replaced by the howl of the wind against steel masts. Boats bobbed violently in the dark water, their ropes creaking like dying animals. Van parked three blocks away and approached on foot, keeping to the shadows. The piece of paper with the coordinates was damp in his pocket, but he had already memorized them. The entrance to the old service tunnels wasn’t easy to find. Most people didn’t even know they existed — relics from when the marina had been part of a naval shipyard decades ago. Now, the city had simply built over them, sealing the past under concrete and forgetting. But Van remembered. His father had worked the shipyards once, before everything went wrong. He found the access point tucked behind a rusted utility shed — a heavy steel hatch, half-hidden by tangled vines. He tugged at the handle. Locked. Van gritted his teeth, pulled a crowbar
212. Meeting In The Rain
The storm didn’t let up.It pounded the city in thick, angry sheets, flooding gutters, choking the storm drains, turning alleyways into rivers of filth.Van watched it from the living room window, one hand curled around a cold cup of coffee.He hadn’t slept.He couldn’t.Not with the bloody scrap locked away in his desk drawer.Not with Ivy pretending everything was fine for the kids’ sake.At 2:37 a.m., his phone buzzed again.Unknown Number.Van snatched it up.A text this time.MEET ME.PARKER’S GARAGE. 4AM. COME ALONE.No signature.No instructions.But Van already knew he was going.★★★Parker’s Garage was an old, abandoned auto shop on the east side, gutted years ago after a fire.Van remembered it from his teenage years — a place where kids would go to drink, fight, and hide from the world.He drove through the drowned streets, headlights cutting through the rain like a blade.The city felt deserted, haunted.Every instinct told him this was a trap.He went anyway.He pulled up
