CHAPTER 41: CHAPTER 41

Ace was overwhelmed by a powerful sense of guilt that he couldn’t seem to get rid of. He couldn’t stop thinking about Old Man Harkin’s suspicious eyes and the phantom name Leonid Petrovich hung over him. He had given Ramos what he wanted and kept the man’s desperate secret. The System had praised his work as ’efficient,’ but the act just made Ace feel dirty and in need of a shower.

The reward didn’t feel satisfying, as it was only a small, silent upgrade that he alone could perceive. He did notice his thoughts moving a little faster now, with mental connections forming more easily. His Neural-Interface felt sharper, like a well-oiled tool in his mind. He had used it to fix a broken radio in the workshop, feeling the nanites hum under his skin as they obeyed his commands just a fraction quicker. While it was useful, it also served as a reminder that his power grew only by feeding the beast.

Evelyn watched him from her usual spot, her laptop casting a familiar blue glow. She didn’t ask about what happened at the docks because the tense set of Ace’s shoulders and his silence told her everything she needed to know. "The two thousand from Borland won’t last," she stated, her voice cutting through the quiet. She wasn’t accusing him; she was just stating a fact. "The rent for this dump is due and It is 90 bucks, and Silva eats like he’s storing for winter. We need to find another client this week."

The amount felt huge to Ace as he nodded. Although ninety dollars had been a fortune not long ago, it now seemed like merely the first brick in a large wall of upcoming expenses. "We can’t wait for Ramos to drop another task in our lap," he agreed. He pointed to the stack of folders they had salvaged from Deke’s lockbox, which they had hidden in a new, less smelly spot. "We have a list of the city’s worst people. We just convinced one crooked cop to pay for protection, so who should we target next?"

Evelyn was already a step ahead of him. She turned her laptop screen to show him a polished, professional news article from the City Tribune with the headline, "City Celebrates Judge Hemlock’s Forty Years of Service." The accompanying photo showed a man with a grandfatherly smile and shrewd eyes shaking hands with the mayor. Evelyn moved her cursor to highlight a specific paragraph buried beneath all the complimentary language.

The article described the judge as a pillar of the community and a dedicated public servant who planned to enjoy a quiet retirement at his summer home on Willow Lake.

"Willow Lake," Evelyn repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism. She pointed out that the average property price there is 1.2 million dollars, and according to county records, the judge had paid off the mortgage on that very summer home in a single cash payment just two years prior. To further prove her point, she pulled up another window containing a blurry, dark photo from a traffic camera. The image showed what she identified as his supposedly modest city sedan pulling into the valet line at The Obsidian Room, an exclusive club where the membership fee required just to park there is twenty-five thousand dollars a year.

She looked at Ace, making sure he understood the situation. "His salary as a judge is nowhere near enough to afford that lifestyle. Furthermore, he is on Deke’s list, and the investigation file on him is very thick. It contains evidence of him taking bribes to give lighter sentences, making case files disappear, and seizing property only for it to end up in the hands of his friends." She tapped a key to bring up her sleek computer dashboard. With a few clicks, she created a new file labeled "Hemlock_W_Retirement_Package" and set its status to encrypted so it would be held securely.

Ace began to understand. "So he’s about to retire. He’s planning to sail off into the sunset with all the money he stole. He has everything to lose, and he only has a short time left to protect it."

"Exactly," Evelyn replied. "He is the perfect client. He is terrified that a scandal will ruin his retirement, so he doesn’t need a thug like Deke threatening him. What he needs is a discreet and professional firm to ensure his questionable financial history remains completely private while he transitions into civilian life."

Ace felt a familiar, sickening twist in his stomach. He realized that this was the new game he had to play. His survival no longer depended on begging or making risky stock market gambles. Instead, it depended on selling peace of mind to the very people who were ruining the city. This new plan was smarter and safer, but it also felt far worse. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he finally agreed and said, "Alright, let’s make the call."

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Ace decided to use the same calm, professional, and cold voice he had used on Borland—the voice of "Adrian Chase." He called the main number for the courthouse. Using a small piece of information he had found in Deke’s file, he was able to get transferred directly to Judge Hemlock’s private office.

A woman with a sharp and impatient voice answered, "Judge Hemlock’s office."

"This is Adrian Chase from Aegis Solutions," Ace said, keeping his tone neutral and businesslike. "I’m calling for the Judge regarding his upcoming retirement and the long-term security of his assets." He deliberately phrased it to sound like a scheduled call about financial investments.

There was a brief pause before the woman replied, "One moment, please."

This time, the wait was much longer. Ace imagined the scene in the judge’s plush office: the initial confusion as Hemlock tried to remember a company he had never hired, slowly turning into a dawning fear.

Finally, a man’s voice came on the line. It was the same grandfatherly voice Ace had heard in the news video, but all the warmth was now gone, replaced by a wary and steely calm. "This is Hemlock. Who did you say you were?"

"Adrian Chase, Your Honor, from Aegis Solutions. We specialize in the discreet management of sensitive information. We have recently become responsible for a historical archive that we believe you will want to keep secure. We’re calling it the ’Hemlock_W_Retirement_Package.’"

The silence on the other end of the line was total. Ace could almost hear the man’s heart pounding against his judicial robes.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Hemlock said, but his attempt to bluff was weak and undercut by the obvious tension in his voice.

"Of course, Your Honor," Ace said smoothly. "Many of our clients prefer to keep their legacy planning completely private. To show you what we mean, we have provided a secure link to a dashboard that shows the current status of your file. This is just for your verification, with no obligation." He then nodded to Evelyn, who immediately sent the link.

There was another minute of silence. Ace could easily picture the scene: Judge Hemlock, sitting in his expensive office with oak-paneled walls, would be staring at his phone. He would then look at the link Ace had sent him, and a wave of cold fear would wash over him. Hemlock would click the link and see a very professional-looking website. He would see a file with his own name on it, marked with a ominous red "ENCRYPTED" status. He would also see fake computer logs that showed unnamed sources had tried to break into his files. The entire performance was perfectly designed to seem real.

When Hemlock finally spoke again, his voice was lower and strained with tension. "What is it you want from me?"

"Your Honor. We just want three thousand dollars," Ace explained. "This pays for one month of our premium protection service, which includes active monitoring, encryption checks, and our absolute promise of discretion. It guarantees that the private details of your retirement will remain... private and unexposed." Ace let that idea hang in the air for a moment before adding, "We believe it is a very small price to pay for a peaceful retirement."

"Three thousand dollars," Hemlock repeated, his voice empty of emotion. "And this service of yours... you guarantee that there will be no problems for me?"

"Think of us as a firewall, Your Honor," Ace said calmly. "Our job is to protect you from trouble, not to cause it."

Another long pause followed. Ace could almost hear the calculations happening in the judge’s mind as he weighed the risks and felt the pure terror of being exposed so close to the end of his career. "Fine," the judge finally spat out, the word filled with bitter resignation. "How do I pay?"

"Use an untraceable method. Leave cash in Locker 209 at the Northside Train Station," Ace instructed. "The combination is 22-10-35. You must do this by 5 PM today. Once we receive the money, your online status will update to ’Active Protection.’ We will contact you again about next month’s payment."

"Understood," Hemlock hissed, and the call ended abruptly.

Ace lowered the phone, noticing that his hand was steady this time. He still felt guilty, but that feeling was being smothered by a sense of numb necessity. He looked over at Evelyn and said, "He agreed. He will deliver three thousand by 5 PM today."

Evelyn did not smile. She simply turned to her laptop and updated the information on their screen. The red padlock icon next to Judge Hemlock’s file shimmered and turned green, now reading: ACTIVE PROTECTION - MONITORING ENGAGED.

"That makes two clients," she said in a flat, emotionless voice. "First a corrupt police officer, and now a crooked judge. We are building quite a collection of dishonest clients."

Ace looked around their workshop, a crumbling fortress that had been bought with dirty money. In the corner, Silva was concentrating hard, his tongue stuck out as he tried to redraw his shield logo on a fresh piece of paper. He was aiming for a design that looked more like an eagle, but it currently resembled a startled chicken.

On the bench sat Ace’s new burner phone, the one from Ramos. It remained silent for now, but he knew it was only a matter of time before it buzzed with another demand. For the moment, they had three thousand dollars on the way, which meant they were still surviving. However, Ace was learning to carry the heavy weight that came with the cost of that survival.