2025-04-28 02:14:24
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From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 207. Hidden Video
Van sat alone in the parking lot for a long time after the meeting ended, rain streaking the windshield in thin, crooked lines.The world outside blurred into shapes — gray buildings, hunched figures, headlights crawling like sluggish insects.He should have driven home.He should have gone back to Ivy, to his kids, to the life he was trying so hard to hold onto.Instead, he found himself tapping out a message to Officer Raúl.Van: You said there was a video. Bianca's apology. I want to see it.Raúl’s reply came almost instantly, curt and without pleasantries.Raúl: Come back inside. Room 2C. Ask for Lange.Van stared at the screen for a beat, then shoved the door open and walked back through the cold.★★★Room 2C was smaller than he expected, barely more than a closet with a chair, a table, and a battered computer monitor.Officer Lange was already waiting, arms folded, expression unreadable."You sure you want to see this?" he asked.Van nodded once.Without another word, Lange hit
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 208. Shadows
By the time Van pulled into his driveway, night had fallen thick and heavy.The streetlights flickered in the mist, casting long, trembling shadows across the pavement.From the outside, his house looked warm, ordinary.Lights glowed behind the curtains.He could hear faint laughter — Ivy and the twins, safe inside.For a moment, Van allowed himself to breathe.Allowed himself to believe that maybe the nightmare was still somewhere far away.He killed the engine and climbed out of the truck, boots crunching on wet gravel.That’s when he noticed it.A black car idling two houses down. Windows tinted so dark they swallowed the reflection of the streetlights.Van froze, instincts honed in prison roaring to life.The car didn’t move. Didn’t flash its lights.Just sat there, silent and watchful.Pretending he hadn’t seen it, Van walked calmly to his front door.But his spine tingled the whole way.He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and threw the bolt behind him.★★★"I thought you’d be
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 209. Hidden Evidence
By morning, Van’s exhaustion had settled into something harder, sharper.He moved through the kitchen like a machine, fixing breakfast for the kids, kissing Ivy goodbye as she wrangled them into coats and backpacks.He didn’t mention the phone call.Or the black car.Or the fingerprints.He needed answers before he dragged his family any deeper into the quicksand.When the door shut behind them, Van grabbed his jacket and keys, heading straight for the station without warning Raúl or Lange.If they weren’t going to treat him like a real part of this investigation, fine.He would do it himself.★★★The precinct lobby buzzed with the usual noise, but Van barely registered it.He made a beeline for the records office — a cramped room stuffed with filing cabinets and bored clerks pretending to work."Morning," Van said, flashing a tight smile at the woman behind the counter."I’m supposed to pick up some paperwork. Officer Lange said he left it for me."The woman didn’t even blink. She ju
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 210. Dangerous Names
Van didn’t go home.Not yet.Instead, he drove through the city’s veins, the car's engine growling under him, weaving toward places he hadn’t been in years.Neighborhoods where the streetlights were busted and the only thing thicker than the smog was the silence.The kind of places where people heard screams in the night and didn’t open their windows.He had to find someone who could talk.Someone who didn’t mind getting their hands dirty.He had to find out what Jared Barron was hiding — and why Bianca had been caught in the middle.★★★Van’s first stop was a rundown bar on the south end — a place called Kessler’s that used to be a hotbed for low-level criminals, washed-up ex-cons, and the kind of men who did "favors" if the price was right.Inside, the air smelled like sweat, whiskey, and bad decisions.Van didn’t recognize the new bartender, but the big man slouched at the end of the counter was familiar — Marcus Holt, a name from Van’s old life.Ex-fixer. Ex-muscle-for-hire.Curre
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 211. Van's Investigation
The next morning, Van woke before dawn, jolted out of a restless sleep by a dream he couldn’t quite remember.Something about Bianca — running, reaching for him — and the sound of waves crashing against stone.He shook it off and dressed quietly, careful not to wake Ivy.The house felt colder than usual, shadows clinging to the corners.Outside, the sky was still black.The city crouched under the weight of an incoming storm, clouds bruised and low.Van slid into his truck and headed downtown.He wasn’t going to waste another minute.Today, he needed proof.Not whispers.Not threats.Proof.His first stop was City Records, a brutalist concrete building that smelled like mildew and stale coffee.Most people didn’t realize you could find the real dirt here — property deeds, business licenses, permits that could tell you who really owned what in this town.Van had learned the system a long time ago.Back when he needed to survive.He slipped into the public archive room and started diggi
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 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
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 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
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 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
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226. The Accountant's Secret
The safehouse smelled like old coffee and fear when Louisa Martin finally showed up.She came alone, wrapped in a cheap raincoat two sizes too big, hair hidden under a beanie.Her eyes darted everywhere — ceiling corners, dark windows, even the cracks in the floor like they might bite her.Van watched her quietly from across the room, arms folded.She looked nothing like the sharp financial shark Keller described.This woman was frayed at the edges, like someone who hadn’t slept properly in months.Keller made the introductions. "Louisa. This is Van. Van — Louisa."Louisa’s voice was brittle as glass. "I know who he is."Her eyes flicked to Van, then away again like looking at him too long might get her killed.Van didn’t bother with small talk, time was blood now. "You worked for Barron, that means you know where the bodies are buried. You talk — I make sure you stay breathing.You stay quiet — and you’ll be next on his list."Louisa’s laugh was short and humorless."Sweetheart, I’ve
225. Next Move
By mid-morning, Van couldn’t step outside without seeing his own face staring back from every screen.Some called him a vigilante.Others spat the word criminal like poison.But the city was buzzing, and Barron’s name was finally dragged through the dirt alongside his own.Van didn’t care about the headlines. He cared about the numbers Carla showed him — accounts traced, shell companies linked, wires exposed like raw nerves.Money. That’s where they would cut next.She tapped the screen, her nail chipped and trembling slightly."See this? Phoenix Holdings. Looks clean on the outside, but dig deeper and it’s washing Barron’s trafficking money through luxury imports. Art, watches, cars—hell, probably gold toilets for his mansion."Van grunted. His mind wasn’t on art.It was on Lenny, still fighting for his life three floors up."You said we could burn him financially. How?"Carla smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked as tired as he felt."We leak it. Quiet first — to the rig
224. First Blood
The attack came at dawn.Silent. Surgical. Cruel.Lenny never saw it coming. He was stepping out of his apartment, headed to meet Van at the old mill, when the van screeched up.Three men in black masks.No words — just steel pipes and fists.Neighbors heard the commotion but kept their doors shut.Everyone knew better. When Barron’s men came calling, you looked away.By the time the van peeled off, Lenny lay in a broken heap, blood pooling beneath his head.His niece’s picture, which he always carried in his pocket, fluttered to the ground, soaked red.★★★Van got the call an hour later.Nora's voice shook."They nearly killed him, Van. Lenny’s in ICU. Skull fractures, broken ribs. They meant to send a message."Van stood frozen in the middle of Keller’s living room, heart pounding like a war drum.Carla looked up from her laptop, face pale."This is escalation. Barron’s going full scorched earth now. If we don’t hit back hard—"Van was already moving.★★★At the hospital, Lenny lay
223. Raising An Army
Van’s phone buzzed just past midnight, it was an unknown number but he answered without hesitation.A familiar voice, rough and low, crackled through."You said if we ever wanted payback, we should call. Well, we’re calling."It was Lenny — an old cellmate from the prison days. A man who’d lost his niece to the same trafficking chain Bianca had just escaped.Van’s chest tightened."Where are you?""Abandoned mill off 43rd Street. And we’re not alone."Van grabbed his jacket and keys.This was the sign he’d been waiting for.★★★The mill was a ruin of rust and cracked windows, but inside, the air was electric.Dozens of faces turned when Van stepped in.Ex-cons, street runners and women with haunted eyes — survivors of Barron’s network.At the front stood Lenny, his massive arms crossed over his chest. Beside him, a thin woman with a scar along her jaw — Nora, who had once testified and then vanished from public sight.Van took it in: a gathering of the discarded and the damned.People
222. Barron Retaliates
The news broke before dawn. Grainy footage leaked online — flashing lights at the docks, bodies being loaded into ambulances, women wrapped in blankets, their faces blurred.The headlines screamed in bold:Human Trafficking Ring Busted in Dramatic Night Raid.But behind the headlines, in dark rooms far from the public eye, powerful men were already plotting their revenge.Van sat beside Bianca's hospital bed, watching her chest rise and fall. She was sedated, her body too battered and exhausted to stay conscious for long but she was alive.That simple fact kept him breathing.Keller stood near the door, on the phone with someone high up — probably trying to keep this operation from exploding into a political scandal.Carla scrolled through her tablet, her face grim."They’re already spinning this," she muttered. "Barron’s people are leaking stories that this was a rogue smuggling crew. Small-time. Not connected to him."Van’s jaw clenched."Typical. Burn the pawns, protect the king."
221. Final Hunt
The storm hadn’t let up by morning.Thunder rolled over the city like distant gunfire as Van paced the length of Keller’s safehouse, phone clutched in a death grip.The message replayed in his mind over and over:"Transfer complete. Barron expects the shipment before Friday."Today was Thursday.That meant they had less than twenty-four hours to find Bianca before she vanished — maybe forever.Carla spread a map on the table, jabbing her finger at different points marked in red."These are known drop sites tied to Barron’s network. Truck yards. Private airstrips. Warehouses near the docks. If they’re moving her, it’s through one of these routes."Van stopped pacing, leaned over the map."Which one?"Carla’s mouth pressed into a thin line."If I knew that, we’d already be on the road."Keller stormed in from the other room, phone to his ear."No, I don’t care if it’s off the books—pull every asset we have! She’s out there, and I want eyes on every exit point in this city!"He ended the
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,
