Sourcing the specific performance parts took longer than anticipated.
As a result, Hunter Sun remained busy until nearly five o'clock the following morning before finally completing Charlie's modification commission.
After pocketing the eight thousand dollars, Hunter didn't waste time exchanging pleasantries with Charlie. He immediately hopped onto his predecessor's old motorcycle and rode back to his apartment.
After a quick shower, Hunter couldn't even be bothered to make breakfast. He had been awake for over forty hours. The moment his head hit the pillow, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
However, Hunter was unaware of the chaos unfolding elsewhere.
While he slept, a storm was brewing. After a full day of searching, Steve—the man who had just lost two safes containing almost his entire net worth—had descended into absolute madness.
CRASH!
A cloisonné vase from the Orient was hurled violently across the room by a furious Steve. It shattered against the vintage floorboards of his villa.
Those floorboards were expensive antique materials he had purchased from a specialized contractor, allegedly salvaged from an ancient European monastery with a thousand years of history.
The villa was filled with such items—Eastern and Western art pieces that looked undeniably aged and valuable. But to put it bluntly, Steve was just a pseudo-intellectual nouveau riche trying to buy class.
Take the cloisonné vase he had just smashed to dust. It wasn't an antique; it was a piece of modern craftsmanship. And judging by the markings, it wasn't even from China—it was a Japanese replica.
Steve didn't understand the difference. He had treated these objects as priceless treasures. But now? With the loss of the two safes that held his real fortune, these "treasures" had become nothing more than venting tools for his rage.
He smashed them. He threw them. Debris was scattered everywhere.
"Useless!"
"You are all useless trash!"
"So many people!"
"Such tight security!"
"You're telling me that a few people climbed up that cliff, infiltrated my villa, and stole two safes?" Steve roared, his face flushed purple. "Two safes! Things that weigh tons! How did they take them away?"
"Come on! Tell me!"
Steve was spiraling.
Since being startled awake by a palpitation in the early hours of the previous morning, his life had turned into a nightmare.
When the trap guarding the safes was triggered, it had taken Steve less than a minute to rush from the second floor down to the first. He had caught a glimpse of a 'thief' wrapped head-to-toe in black, face obscured.
The thief had fled the moment Steve appeared. But the two safes had vanished along with him.
Steve had chased the thief in his car last night. But before he even reached the bottom of the mountain, he realized the motorcycle rider was likely just a decoy—bait to lure him away from the property.
He had immediately turned his car around and raced back to the villa.
For the last thirty-plus hours, his men had practically turned the villa inside out. They had dug three feet into the ground in the surrounding hills.
But until now, let alone finding the two massive, heavy safes that had mysteriously evaporated, they hadn't found a single clue.
Aside from the cliff behind the villa—a fifty-meter drop where they found pitons hammered into the rock and rapid-descent ropes—there was no trace of human activity.
More than a day had passed.
Zero leads.
The two bikers Steve had sent to intercept the fleeing thief had been humiliated on the highway, easily shaken off by the thief's superior driving skills.
No clues. No gold. No explanation.
Two safes, filled with gold bars, weighing over four tons combined. How did they vanish from right under his nose?
Steve, unable to comprehend the physics of the theft, was consumed by fury. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression twisted and savage. He looked around at his henchmen—men he paid hundreds of thousands of dollars annually to recruit.
If he didn't still need them, Steve would have grabbed an AK-47 right then and there and gunned them all down. He wanted to slaughter these incompetent fools.
The subordinates looked at each other, terrified into silence. They were desperadoes hired on high salaries. They had followed Steve for over a year and made good money. Unless the situation became truly untenable, they were willing to endure a scolding.
"Boss, we've combed the entire perimeter of the villa," a minor team leader said, hesitating before speaking up. "We can confirm that aside from the cliff face, there are no tracks or signs of outsiders entering or leaving."
SMASH!
The man instantly regretted opening his mouth.
Another porcelain jar flew toward him. Fortunately, he dodged at the last second, avoiding a concussion.
"Trash! Then you tell me—how did they steal my safes?"
"This..."
The team leader was stumped. Seeing Steve looking at him with eyes that wanted to eat him alive, he swallowed hard and stammered, "Boss... is it possible they bought another house nearby?"
" maybe... maybe they moved it there during the chaos last night?"
It was clearly a desperate, nonsense answer meant to placate Steve. They had already spent yesterday searching. They had checked for heavy load tracks and reviewed the passage records of nearby vehicles.
The two cumbersome safes, which had been a nightmare to install originally, had simply vanished into thin air.
But Steve was past the point of logic. His anger had dulled his usually sharp mind.
Gritting his teeth, he hissed, "Send a team. Investigate the villas nearby. Check which ones were sold in the last few months..."
"No," he corrected himself, eyes narrowing. "Within the last year. I want results immediately!"
"Yes, sir!"
Another team leader, unwilling to stay and be a target for flying pottery, stepped forward to accept the task and led a few men out.
He had barely left when the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the hall.
Another subordinate rushed in, a look of triumph on his face.
"Boss! We checked all the surveillance from the nearby intersections."
"We found it. We found a suspicious target."
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