The Outcast: Michael Grey's Rise to the Top

Chapter Five: A Dangerous Discovery

It took far longer than Michael had expected to track Victor down. With the clock ticking toward ten, he had started combing through the known criminal hotspots in the area, hoping to catch even a glimpse of his cousin.

Just as he was beginning to think the search would turn up nothing, he spotted it parked around the corner of a rusted-out warehouse at the edge of an abandoned harbor.

That limousine.

His pulse quickened.

The harbor had been on his mental list from the start, but he'd avoided it for a reason. The area was known territory for one of the city’s most violent gangs. Going in there without a plan or backup was basically asking for trouble.

But the moment he saw that car, his caution gave way to adrenaline.

Michael slowed down and stuck to the shadows as he approached the massive warehouse. Light spilled from the inside, a clear sign that something was happening. He pressed his back to the corrugated steel wall and slipped through one of the side entrances, staying low and silent.

Inside, the air smelled like dust and oil. Crates were stacked high, forming narrow corridors that gave him just enough cover. He moved carefully, slipping between the cargo, eyes scanning for any sign of movement.

Then he heard the voices. Sharp, familiar, and close.

Creeping forward, Michael reached the main floor of the warehouse and crouched behind a tall stack of crates. There they were. Victor stood at the center of it all, flanked by his massive bodyguard. Surrounding them were several men dressed in red and black, the unmistakable uniform of the gang that ran this part of the city.

One of the gang members stepped forward, carrying a sleek black suitcase.

Michael narrowed his eyes. The moment he saw Victor’s expression change—first eager, then hungry—he knew he was in the right place at the right time.

'Looks like I made it just in time.'

He slipped into a darker corner where he had a clear view and pulled out his recorder. With a flick of his thumb, the red light blinked on and the device started capturing everything.

Victor stepped forward, but the gang leader raised a hand to stop him.

“Not so fast,” the man said, grinning crookedly. “Let’s see the cash first.”

Victor froze, then quickly masked his eagerness with a smirk. He turned to his bodyguard, who stepped forward and unzipped a black duffel bag, pulling out a heavy bundle.

Victor grabbed it and tossed it onto the concrete at the gangster’s feet.

“There. Happy now?”

The gang leader—Don, judging by how the others addressed him—snorted and tossed the suitcase high into the air. Victor scrambled, barely catching it before it crashed to the ground.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Don?!” he snapped, clutching the case like it was something precious.

Don just laughed, waving him off like a mosquito.

“Relax, rich boy. You’ll live.”

He crouched beside the duffel bag and opened it. A slow whistle escaped his lips as he saw the neatly stacked bills.

“Two hundred thousand dollars in cold hard cash,” he said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. His grin widened as he glanced back at his crew. “Man, you trust-fund brats have no idea how easy you’ve got it.”

Michael leaned out a little more, trying to get a cleaner angle with the camera. His heart was pounding, not just from the tension of being caught, but from the numbers. Two hundred thousand in cash. For what? What could possibly be in that suitcase?

Whatever it is... it’s something big.

He adjusted the angle again, not noticing the faint blinking red light of the camera still visible from his position.

Suddenly, Don’s gaze snapped to the crates.

The man did not say a word. He just stared for a second—then his eyes locked directly onto Michael.

The grin vanished from his face.

The mood in the warehouse shifted instantly. Weapons were drawn in seconds, and Michael realized far too late what had given him away.

The blinking light.

“Shit—” he breathed, diving backward just as the first bullets shredded through the crates around him. Splinters flew like shrapnel as he hit the ground and rolled behind cover.

“Don’t you idiots dare shoot the merchandise!” Don roared. He zipped the bag shut and hurled it to one of his men. “You, take that cash to the safehouse. The rest of you, come with me!”

He grabbed a pistol from the man beside him and shoved him out of the way, eyes blazing with fury.

“We’ve got a rat to hunt.”