Johnny Lance and the Seven Deadly Sins System of Wealth

Chapter 12: Shadows in the Fire

Johnny’s penthouse was eerily quiet, but his mind was anything but. He paced back and forth in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. The city glittered below, but all he could see were the headlines that had dropped earlier in the day.  

“Johnny Lance: Ties to Money Laundering? New Allegations Surface”

“Sources Claim Lance Involved in Shadow Deals with Overseas Investors” 

He stopped pacing, scrolling through the article again. His jaw clenched as he read the accusations—half-truths twisted into damning lies. The fingerprints of Marcus Blackwood were all over it.  

The buzz of his phone snapped him out of his thoughts. The caller ID read Alan Reyes.  

“Alan,” Johnny said sharply as he answered.  

“Johnny,” Alan’s voice was clipped, cautious. “We need to talk.”  

“About the articles?” Johnny asked, his voice tight.  

“Yes.” There was a pause, then Alan continued, “Look, I’m just going to say it—are they true?”  

Johnny froze mid-step, his grip tightening on the phone. “Are you serious right now?”  

“I have to ask,” Alan said, his tone defensive. “This isn’t just about you. I’m your lawyer, Johnny. If there’s even a sliver of truth to these allegations—”  

“There isn’t,” Johnny snapped. “You think I’d be stupid enough to get involved in something like that?”  

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Alan said, his voice softening. “But I’ve seen good men make bad decisions when the stakes are high. I need to know if there’s anything I should be preparing for.”  

Johnny exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, Alan. It’s all bullshit. Marcus is pulling strings, trying to make me look dirty. And now you’re falling for it too.”  

“I’m not falling for it,” Alan said. “I’m trying to protect you. But you’re not exactly making it easy.”  

Johnny’s voice dropped, low and dangerous. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”  

“You’re shutting people out,” Alan said. “Mia called me earlier. She said you’ve been dodging her calls. She’s trying to help you, Johnny.”  

Johnny let out a bitter laugh. “Help me? Or write the next article about how I’m New Veritas’s biggest villain?”  

“She’s not your enemy,” Alan said firmly.  

Johnny’s voice rose. “How do you know that? How do I know you’re not working with Marcus too?”  

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.  

“Wow,” Alan said finally, his voice cold. “You really think that, don’t you?”  

Johnny hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. “I—I didn’t mean—”  

“No,” Alan interrupted. “You did. And that’s the problem, Johnny. You’re so wrapped up in your paranoia that you’re pushing everyone away. If you keep this up, you’ll be fighting Marcus alone.”  

Johnny opened his mouth to respond, but Alan cut him off. “I’ll do my job, Johnny. But don’t call me again until you figure out who your real allies are.”  

The line went dead.  

---

Across town, in a dimly lit parking garage, Mia Torres clutched her phone tightly as she climbed out of her car. She glanced around, her nerves on edge. The text she’d received earlier was simple but cryptic:  

“Meet me at 9 PM. Level 3. I have what you need.”  

The source, a low-level accountant who’d worked for one of Marcus’s shell companies, had been reluctant to talk. But after weeks of persistence, Mia had finally convinced him to meet.  

“Mia,” a voice called softly, echoing in the empty garage.  

She turned to see a thin man in a rumpled suit stepping out of the shadows. **Greg Sanders**, his face pale and drenched in sweat, looked like he hadn’t slept in days.  

“Greg,” Mia said, keeping her voice calm. “Thanks for meeting me.”  

“You said this was important,” Greg said, glancing around nervously. “But I shouldn’t be here. If Marcus finds out—”  

“He won’t,” Mia said quickly. “This is off the record. No one will know you talked to me.”  

Greg let out a hollow laugh. “You don’t get it. Marcus has people everywhere. Phones, emails, cameras—he sees everything.”  

“Then give me something he doesn’t want me to see,” Mia pressed. “You said you had documents. Proof of his offshore accounts, the shell companies, the money he’s been moving around.”  

Greg hesitated, his hands twitching at his sides. “I have it. But if I give it to you, I’m dead.”  

“You won’t be,” Mia said, stepping closer. “I can protect you. We’ll go to the authorities together. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”  

Greg shook his head violently. “You can’t promise that. No one can. Marcus doesn’t just ruin people—he destroys them.”  

Mia softened her tone. “Greg, listen to me. If you don’t do this, he’s going to keep getting away with it. He’ll keep hurting people. You have a chance to stop him. Please.”  

Greg looked at her, his eyes filled with fear and desperation. Slowly, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small flash drive.  

“This has everything,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The accounts, the transactions, the names. But if anyone finds out it came from me…”  

“They won’t,” Mia promised, taking the drive. “You’re doing the right thing.”  

Greg nodded shakily. “I hope so.”  

As Mia slipped the drive into her pocket, the sound of tires screeching echoed through the garage. Both she and Greg froze, their eyes darting toward the entrance.  

A black SUV sped toward them, its headlights cutting through the darkness.  

“Run!” Mia shouted, grabbing Greg’s arm and pulling him toward the stairwell.  

The SUV skidded to a stop, and two men in dark suits jumped out, their faces cold and expressionless.  

“Greg Sanders,” one of them called. “You shouldn’t have come here.”  

Greg whimpered, his legs shaking. “I told you. He has people everywhere.”  

Mia tightened her grip on his arm. “We need to move. Now.”  

But before they could take another step, one of the men raised a gun, pointing it directly at Greg.  

“This doesn’t have to get messy,” the man said. “Hand over the drive, and we’ll let you walk away.”  

Mia stepped in front of Greg, her heart pounding. “You’re not getting anything. Leave now, or I’m calling the police.”  

The man smirked. “You think the police can stop us?”  

Greg yanked his arm free, panic overwhelming him. “I—I can’t do this,” he stammered. “I’m sorry, Mia.”  

Before she could stop him, Greg bolted toward the other end of the garage.  

“Greg, wait!” Mia shouted.  

The man with the gun turned and fired.  

Mia screamed as Greg collapsed, clutching his leg. Blood pooled beneath him, and the gunman stepped forward, his expression cold and detached.  

“Now,” he said, turning back to Mia. “The drive.”  

Mia’s mind raced. She felt the weight of the flash drive in her pocket, her fingers trembling.  

“Over my dead body,” she said, her voice defiant.  

The gunman raised his weapon again.  

A sudden blaring of sirens filled the garage, red and blue lights flashing at the entrance.  

“Damn it,” the second man muttered. “We need to go.”  

The gunman hesitated, then lowered his weapon. “This isn’t over,” he said, his eyes locking with Mia’s.  

The two men climbed back into the SUV and sped off as the police cars screeched to a stop.  

Mia ran to Greg, kneeling beside him as officers rushed toward them.  

“Stay with me,” she said, her voice shaking. “You’re going to be okay.”  

Greg’s eyes fluttered open, his face pale. “M-Marcus…” he whispered. “Don’t let him win.”  

Mia squeezed his hand, her resolve hardening. “I won’t.”  

As the paramedics arrived, Mia reached into her pocket and gripped the flash drive tightly. Whatever was on it, she knew one thing for certain: Marcus Blackwood had just declared war.