Late at night, Steve lay in bed.
It was past midnight, but he couldn't sleep.
"Strange. What is this restless feeling?"
"Is something bad about to happen?"
Steve was a veteran. He served in the first Gulf War and was stationed in Haiti.
After being discharged due to injury, he met Charlie.
They worked together for five or six years, hitting drug lords, gangsters, and wealthy targets, netting over $100 million.
Charlie always insisted on splitting the loot evenly.
But easy money corrupted Steve. Greed took root.
It culminated a year ago in Venice. They stole a ton of gold from the Italian mafia.
That gold was the tipping point.
Steve betrayed them. He took the gold, killed John Bridger (his mentor and friend), and left the rest to die.
But owning the gold didn't bring peace.
He had to eliminate his own henchmen who wanted a cut.
Now, he trusted no one.
He lived alone in a massive villa. No live-in staff. No guards inside. Just cleaners he hired occasionally.
He fortified the walls and installed cameras, but he refused to let anyone stay inside. He was terrified his own men would turn on him.
Because he knew the power of that gold.
He visited the safe multiple times a day just to look at it.
He didn't believe anyone could resist the temptation.
"Wait. The gold!"
A terrible thought struck him.
Cold sweat drenched his back. He sat up, his face pale.
Recently, he felt like he was being watched. Everywhere he went.
It was a soldier's instinct. The same instinct that had saved his life on the battlefield.
His first suspect was Charlie.
He knew Charlie's team. They were principled but dangerously competent.
If it weren't for the gold, Steve wouldn't have dared to cross them.
But the bridge was burned.
It had been eighteen months since the betrayal.
Steve had left false trails in Europe to keep them busy, but he knew it wouldn't last forever.
They were coming.
And with this recent feeling of being watched... they might already be in LA.
"Those damn ghosts."
Steve's anxiety spiked.
He rushed to the adjacent room—his security hub.
A wall of monitors displayed over twenty camera feeds.
He scanned them.
The perimeter was clear. The main gate was secure.
He grabbed the radio. "This is Steve. Status report."
He could see the guard in the monitor, standing diligently at his post.
But Steve knew Lyle, Charlie's hacker, could loop video feeds. He needed audio confirmation.
The radio crackled.
"This is the gatehouse, Mr. Frazelli. All clear. Get some sleep."
"We promise, no one's bothering you."
The guards were from a private security firm serving the neighborhood. They weren't his men, which ironically made them safer. They didn't know about the gold.
Their annoyed tone reassured him. A looped recording wouldn't sound irritated.
Steve sighed in relief.
"Thanks."
He turned off the radio.
He was about to hang it up when—
One of the monitors flickered and went black. Static filled the screen.
An instant later, a piercing alarm shrieked through the room.
Steve's face went black with rage.
He lunged for the wall and grabbed an AK-47.
He knew exactly which camera had gone dark.
It was the hidden camera inside the "broom closet."
The room with the safes.
The alarm meant his trap had been triggered.
"Someone's inside. They found the gold."
Panic and fury exploded in his chest. Veins bulged on his grip as he clutched the rifle.
He stormed out of the bedroom, sprinting down the stairs.
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