CHAPTER 271: ACE

The rain made the street slick with a restless shine, and every car that passed splashed water from the puddles on unsuspecting passersby. Luca pulled his coat closer, feeling it dampen his skin, as he slipped out of this old apartment of his friend Danny’s. The apartment had that same odor of stale coffee and photographic developer like his.

He had one envelope under his arm, and what it held was enough to turn anyone’s stomach, or fortune.

Inside, his payment records.

All transactions are recorded.

The sender: Brandon Marlowe.

At first, Luca hadn’t been ready to believe it. Of course, there had been this recklessness about Danny, but not corruption. However, nothing about this situation was convenient. Brandon had been paying him thousands of dollars for months, hush money, now obvious to Luca as "consulting fees."

What did Danny actually have to keep quiet about?

He didn’t know it yet, but one thing was for sure: Brandon would pay again. Only this time, it would be to keep his name off every tabloid front page in the country.

Before Luca arrived in his underground parking lot, he had made up his mind. He punched in his personal phone number on the phone.

"The line was picked up after three rings."

"Who is this?"Brandon’s voice was tense and cold.

"Luca Thorn," he continued. "We met at Harbor Club. A couple of years ago. I’m sure you recall me. I’m the one who didn’t publish that story about you groping your waitress."

Pause. "What do you want?"

"I found something you might want back." Luca smiled faintly.

"I doubt that."

"You paid Danny," Luca continued. "Regular transfers. Clean, consistent. He kept receipts, Brandon. And notes. You don’t strike me as the kind of man who wants a paper trail leading to a dead journalist."

Silence. Long. Then a deep breath.

"Where did you find this?"

"Where he left it," Luca replied. "You’re lucky I got to it before the wrong people did. But here’s the thing: good deeds don’t pay rent."

"So this is blackmail."

"Call it what you like," Luca said. "I call it balance."

Brandon’s tone eased up, almost becoming cordial. "Okay. How much?"

Luca leaned against his car. "Fifty thousand. Cash. Tonight."

"That’s a bold number."

"It’s cheaper than a murder charge," Luca pointed out.

The silence fell again, but this time Brandon’s voice remained calm as he replied. "Fine. Midnight. I’ll text you the address. Bring everything you’ve got. You’ll leave richer, and I’ll sleep easier."

The line went dead.

Exactly on twelve, Luca got to the edge of an old industrial complex on the outskirts of town. The area had been abandoned for a long time, part of a creaking sign reading Faulkner Shipping & Logistics remained upright, with letters corroded by rust.

It did not escape his notice that this was no coincidence.

He pulled over a block away, slipping the envelope into his inner pocket and making sure his recorder was rolling. His stomach knotted. Too easy. Too quick. Brandon had agreed much too easily. But the allure of the payoff was enough to keep him moving. Surely he could take on one spoiled rich boy.

"I bet Danny thought the same, look how that ended."

Avoice in his head whispered. But it was too late, he could not turn back even if he wanted to.

Only one light was on in the grand warehouse. Luca pushed the metal door to enter, his footsteps echoing through the empty space.

Brandon was waiting.

He stood in the center of the floor, his hands sunk in the pockets of his black coat, his blond hair moist under the low-hanging bulb. His duffel bag lay beside him.

"Mr. Thorn,"he greeted with a smooth voice. "Right on time. That’s nice

Luca positioned himself a short distance away. "Did you bring the money?"

"Count it, if you like," Brandon nudged the bag with his shoe. "Did you bring everything?"

"Like i promised." Luca didn’t move. "Before we do that, let’s be clear. You’re buying everything, the records, the photos, the drive. Once I walk out that door, this never existed."

"You journalists always think you’re the clever ones,"Brandon smiled.

"Not clever. Careful."

The smile lingered, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Danny said something like that once."

This name made Luca’s stomach turn. "What did you do to him?"

Brandon turned his head, his features a mask. "He overplayed his hand. That’s one thing you don’t want to do."

What sparked in his voice was not anger but amusement. Like a hunter playing with his quarry.

Despite this, Luca moved closer. "You think you frighten me, Marlowe? I have been dealing with men such as you all my life. We all bleed the same."

"Maybe," Brandon said. "But I clean up better."

Luca prepared to answer, but then his gaze fell on something.

The glint of metal in the shadows past Brandon’s shoulder.

The second character. Waiting.

His instincts shouted.

He reached for his pocket, but Brandon got to it first.

"Looking for this?" he asked with a smile, holding up Luca’s recorder between his fingers.

Luca froze. "You planned this."

Brandon’s smile turned sharp. "Of course I did. Do you think I’d let a gutter scavenger hold a gun on me? You have something of mine, Mr. Thorn. I want it back."

"I don’t have it on me."

"Pity," sighed Brandon

The second man stepped out of the darkness: a big, quiet man, wearing gloves. Glint of brass knuckles under the streetlight.

Luca’s heart lurched. "You’re not thinking this through. If I vanish, someone will investigate. You know how this is done."

"That’s the beauty of it, Luca. You did disappear. The man who took money from a grieving family to sell his dead friend’s secrets, he’s long gone. Maybe he drove out of town. Maybe he couldn’t live with the guilt."

"You journalists make such poetic suicides," he added, his face relaxing with amusement.

"You won’t get away with this," Luca gulped.

Brandon leaned in, his breath warming Luca’s ear. "I already have."

He then stepped back, snapping his fingers only once.

The man pulling the strings in Luca made a move

Luca swung, a connection made for one brief moment but only managed to stagger the enforcer. The second swing landed quickly, fiercely, blindly. The warehouse tilted crazily. His head bounced off concrete.

Through the ringing in his ears, he heard Brandon’s voice: low, measured, almost tender.

"Next time, Mr. Thorn, let the dead stay buried."

Footsteps. The duffel bag was zipped shut. The sound of retreating

Then came silence.

The rain hissed through the shattered windows above. Luca lay on the cold floor, his breathing shallow and faltering.