2025-05-28 12:18:55
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096
Jake Smith had never liked sharing power, but prison had a way of changing a man’s priorities. Especially when the world outside still belonged to Brent Walker.He read the letter again, his fingers trembling. The lawyer’s handwriting was neat, almost cheerful, as if organizing a prison break was just another day at the office. Jake slid the note across the table to Carl Stone, who studied it in silence.“It’s time,” Carl said. “The Chens are moving. We move with them.”Jake nodded, his jaw tight. “Brent thinks he’s untouchable now. The city’s singing his name, but they haven’t seen what we can do together.”Carl’s smile was slow, wolfish. “He made one mistake.”Jake raised an eyebrow. “Which?”Carl leaned in. “He let us live.”They said nothing for a moment, listening to the distant clang of metal doors and the mutter of guards. Around them, the prison cafeteria was a cage full of hungry men, but Jake and Carl had already found their way out—at least in their minds.“This time, we
095
The Phoenix Foundation's courtyard was alive with color. Kids chased each other around tables stacked high with fruit, bread, and little cartons of juice fresh from Brent's factory. The air smelled of food and hope. Music played from a battered speaker, just loud enough to drown out the city's noise. Brent Walker stood near the doors, sleeves rolled, greeting people as they came. He shook hands, posed for photos, and hugged old men who remembered when the neighborhood was just concrete and dreams. Lucy floated nearby, hair up, cheeks flushed with laughter as she corralled kids toward the crafts table. For a few hours, everything felt simple. Tommy and Jessica manned the grill. Adam darted between booths, his phone at the ready, snapping pictures for the Foundation's social feed. Sofia handed out pamphlets on workplace rights, her smile infectious. Even Ling had let herself dress down, sipping lemonade and watching the crowd with cautious satisfaction. People came i
095
Sofia sat in the back of the rideshare, knuckles white on her phone. Her nerves had barely settled since her undercover day at Marion Blake’s office. She kept replaying the moment Marion caught her in the office, the sharpness in her eyes, the threat in her voice. “If I catch you in here again, you’re gone.” That voice echoed in Sofia’s head as the city lights whirred past. She got out two blocks from the Phoenix Foundation, moving fast and glancing over her shoulder. She’d taken the long way, sure she was being followed. It didn’t help that someone in a gray sedan had tailed her for three turns before peeling off. She climbed the stairs two at a time and let herself into the Foundation’s back door. Ling was waiting in the kitchen, eyes dark with worry. “Did you get anything?” Ling whispered. Sofia nodded, pulling out her phone. “I took pictures of everything I could. There’s one more thing. Marion’s shredding files. I saw her feed whole stacks into the machine. She’s scared.”
093
Prison wasn’t built for men like Victor Lang. He was used to deals in smoky boardrooms, not iron bars and cold food. But he adapted—he always did. He watched, he waited, he learned the routines. It took weeks, but eventually he found the weak link—Warden Harris, a man with expensive tastes and a failing marriage. Victor called him over one evening, voice low. “You like horses, Harris?” The warden stiffened. “What’s it to you?” Victor smiled. “I have friends on the outside. They could help with your debt. All I need is a favor.” Harris hesitated, but Victor saw the hunger in his eyes. “What kind of favor?” the warden asked. “I want a meeting. Me, Sarah Chen, Robert Chen. One hour. No guards, just us.” Harris shook his head. “Impossible.” Victor leaned forward, voice a whisper. “Nothing’s impossible. Not with the right incentive.” He slid a slip of paper across the table. Harris read it, eyes widening at the number. “Half now, half after the meeting,” Victor said. Harris
092
Ling spent her nights with paperwork, her days with suspicion. Since the audit began, she’d barely slept—her mind kept chasing threads, chasing secrets. Tonight, she sat at her kitchen table, files spread out, coffee going cold. She scanned emails, payroll logs, council expenditures. Then—there it was. A payment from Robert Chen’s offshore account, dated five years back. The recipient: Marion Blake. Ling’s pulse quickened. The amount wasn’t huge, but it was enough. She dug deeper—more payments, spread across months, always right before key city council votes. Blake’s name, always the recipient. Ling stood, pacing the small kitchen. This was it—the proof she needed to bring Blake down. But it was circumstantial. Without a smoking gun—an admission, a contract, an email—Blake would walk. She called Brent, her voice low. “I found something,” she said. “Blake took bribes from Robert. Small amounts, but consistent. The money’s real, but unless we get her to admit it, or find a docu
091
Jessica always woke before dawn. She liked the quiet, the way the city still slept, the factory cool and silent before the shift began. For a few minutes, it was hers alone. She walked the floor, clipboard in hand, ticking off inventory and safety checks.The new sardine line gleamed under the overhead lights. Tommy was already there, eyes red from lack of sleep. “Morning,” Jessica said, forcing a smile. “Hey honey.” Tommy didn’t look up from the machine he was checking. “Pressure valve’s acting up again.” Jessica frowned. “That’s the third time this week.” “Yeah,” he said. “And I don’t buy it’s just bad luck.” They worked in silence, inspecting each valve, every belt and panel. When Jessica reached the main processing machine, her stomach twisted. The safety latch was bent at an odd angle. She’d seen it yesterday—intact, brand new. She called Tommy over. “Look at this.” He knelt, running his finger over the latch. “Somebody forced it. See the scoring?” Jessica nodded. “Th
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