Kingston, Jamaica.
Kingston was Jamaica's capital, the political and economic hub, and a world-famous resort destination. It sat in a bay on the southeastern coast, at the southwestern foot of the island's highest peak, the Blue Mountain, with the fertile Guanaea Plains nearby. The climate here was springlike year-round, with temperatures usually between 23 and 29°C. Surrounded on three sides by green hills and mountains and on the fourth by the sparkling Caribbean, it was known as the "Queen of Caribbean Cities."
When the freighter made a temporary stop in Kingston, Sam, Owen, and the others disembarked. They had rented out a small resort for a few days. Sam contacted his laundering people, who worked fast. That very evening, the $150 million in cash was hauled away, leaving only some leftover change for their expenses.
The following days passed like years for them. Short of being ripped off, they were on the verge of becoming rich. Not super-wealthy with unlimited means, but with over $8 million each, they would be wealthier than more than 80% of Americans.
Five days later, one afternoon, everyone sat in the house in boredom. The warm Caribbean weather felt stuffy to them now. The laundering group wouldn't just clean their money—they would also open anonymous Swiss bank accounts for them and deposit the funds. That afternoon was the promised transfer date.
Brrrmmm brrrmmm~~~
The sound of a motorcycle engine approached. Inside, everyone tensed—some reached for weapons, others took cover near the windows.
Sam and Owen peeked out. It was a local man: floral shirt, beach shorts, flip-flops—looking like he'd just come from the seaside. He had no entourage, no visible weapons.
Both Sam and Owen recognized him. Five days ago, he had been the one who took the $150 million away. He had serious pull. Seeing the large brown envelope in his hand, everyone's faces showed excitement.
Sam and Owen opened the door just as he parked the bike. Flashing a wide grin, the man walked up with the easy air of an old friend. If they hadn't known his background, Owen could never have connected him to the laundering network that had handled $150 million the day before. In every way, he looked utterly ordinary—too ordinary.
"Friends, you see, we're very trustworthy..."
The man in the floral shirt shook the envelope slightly. Sam and Owen smiled politely, eyes locked on the package.
Inside, the others were excited but not careless. Some kept watch, others scanned the surroundings. In their profession, they had seen enough to know that black-on-black double-crosses happened most often at moments like this.
Without more talk, the man handed the envelope to Sam, patted his shoulder, and swung back onto the bike. "The accounts are ready. Inside you'll find thirteen numbers—anonymous accounts. Check them. If you ever need me again, I can even cut you a point off the fee."
With that, he rode away. Sam didn't open the envelope immediately—he scanned the surroundings first, then stepped back inside.
The moment they entered, all eyes fixed on the envelope. No one moved until Swager and Fred reported the area clear.
Sam passed the envelope to Owen, letting him open it. Carefully untying the string, Owen found thirteen slips of paper inside, each with a long number—anonymous bank accounts.
Everyone began calling phone banking to check their balances.
"Oh my God—$8,653,846! Hah! I'm rich, I'm a rich man now..."
One man laughed wildly, soon joined by others. Checking was quick; the laundering crew had been professional, without a single hitch. Owen checked Becky's share for her—she was too busy and surrounded by people to do it herself.
"I'm buying a mansion! A sports car! I'm dating every beautiful woman I can find..."
Heartbeat was lost in his fantasies.
"I'm tasting the world's best food—caviar by the spoon, black truffles with Louis XIII. And I'm going to China... Sichuan, to be exact..."
The squad's foodie and boozehound already had plans for every dollar.
"Bryan, what about you?"
Owen, flushed with excitement himself, noticed a few of the steadier men just smiling.
"Me? I'm buying my daughter a big house with a swimming pool."
"Come on, doesn't her stepfather's place already have a pool?"
Light couldn't resist teasing—these old friends had no reason to hold back.
"No. Lenore's filing for divorce from Stuart. We might get back together..."
"Wow, congrats, man—you'll have your family back together again."
Everyone congratulated Bryan. His marriage had fallen apart years ago due to long absences abroad, leaving his relationship with his daughter strained. He had tried to repair things after retiring, but his wife had remarried. Rescuing his daughter Kim from human traffickers had softened things between them, though.
Now, his life's focus was making up for lost time with his family. With money in hand, he could finally provide the best for them. Kim's stepfather was wealthy, and Bryan worried she might find it hard to adjust to a humbler life. Now, he could match that lifestyle.
"Maybe a family vacation... some romance... you know how women love that..."
The congratulations seemed to light a spark in Bryan.
"Buddy, better late than never..."
Laughter followed. Someone asked Bayev, who had been reserved despite having two kids.
"I... haven't decided. I don't know if I should tell my family. Not because of the money—but because it would worry them. If they knew what I'd done to earn it, they'd be terrified."
It made sense. His wife and children were ordinary people. Dropping the truth on them might keep them awake for weeks. Maybe keeping quiet was best.
Owen had no such problem—his mother and sister were practically unflappable. They hadn't batted an eye when he went to Colombia, and they certainly wouldn't now. As for Monica—she'd be even less concerned.
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