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From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 183. Anae
The hours crawled by.The city outside Van’s office never really slept, but up here on the twelfth floor, it felt like time was holding its breath. The room had settled into a heavy, anxious quiet. Van worked at one of his monitors, his face lit in ghostly blue. Ivy sat near Elias, trying to keep her mind from spiraling.She kept thinking about that moment in the car, the way the SUV had clung to their tail like a shadow. She thought about her aunt, about what might have happened if they hadn’t realized they were being followed. And she kept hearing Van’s words in her head:You have to assume they might have weapons.She hadn’t told her aunt anything. And now she couldn’t. Not until she knew it was safe. If it would ever be safe again.Elias had dozed off briefly, but his sleep was shallow and restless. He stirred often, his lips moving with unheard words. Ivy watched him, her heart aching. He looked younger like this. Softer. The fear and guilt stripped away for just a moment.Van br
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 184. Anae II
The road to Albany was long and uneventful, and the silence in the car grew heavier with every mile they drove. Ivy couldn’t stop thinking about the name Anae Voss. There was something haunting about it—sharp and distant, like a forgotten memory trying to claw its way back.They arrived on the edge of the city just after ten AM, when the streets had started coming alive slowly. Van had a location: a converted warehouse on the outskirts, near the old rail yards. The neighborhood looked half-forgotten—graffiti-covered brick walls, boarded-up storefronts, old industrial fences rusting under the weight of years.“She's in there?” Ivy asked, eyeing the building.“She was, forty-eight hours ago,” Van said. “No guarantees. But according to the result of the extensive research we did, someone’s living off-grid inside.”Elias shifted uncomfortably. “She won’t like being found.”“Then let’s not give her a reason to shoot first,” Ivy muttered.They approached cautiously, parking a block away and
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 185. Set Up
It was obvious Anae was skeptical about helping them—Van could see it in her eyes, in the stiffness in her shoulders, in the way her fingers hovered near the concealed blade on her hip. Maybe she thought they’d been sent by the company to find out what she knew—and eliminate her, once and for all.But something about Van made her hesitate. Something about the way he stood, not too close, not too far. The way he spoke—not pushing, not demanding. And his eyes… they didn’t carry the coldness of a corporate enforcer. They held a kind of warmth Anae hadn’t seen in a long time. It made her want to trust him, even if her instincts screamed otherwise.Not only was he attractive—his perfectly lined jaw, the softness of his expression, the kind of eyes that looked like they'd seen too much—but he also had a way with words. He didn’t speak like someone trying to convince her. He spoke like someone who understood. After being isolated from people for so long, Anae found herself aching to feel hum
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 186. The Fire
When Ivy heard the first round of gunshots, she felt like her heart had stopped. A cold, paralyzing dread wrapped itself around her chest, making it hard to breathe. She knew she was supposed to run or at least try to hide, but her fear kept her rooted in place, her legs frozen, her mind screaming but her body refusing to respond.She saw Anae fall—her body jerking back with the impact, then crumpling lifelessly to the ground. Blood spread out beneath her like ink on paper. Ivy wanted to scream, to run to her, to do something—anything—but her limbs betrayed her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, silent and hot, blurring her vision. Her entire body trembled as the horror unfolded before her.She was afraid—more afraid than she had ever been. She had always known the risks, knew that pushing for the truth, for answers, would make her enemies among the higher-ups. But she had never truly considered what the consequences might look like. Not like this. Not in gunfire and bloodshed. Not in A
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 187. The Hospital
Red and blue lights swirled through the rain-slicked street as the ambulance doors slammed shut. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air, mixing with smoke and the acrid scent of ash. Firefighters and paramedics moved with urgent purpose, guiding Van and Ivy to the emergency vehicle. Ivy clung to consciousness, her body trembling, her breaths shallow. Van held her hand tightly, his shirt soaked in blood that wasn’t hers. His lips were pale, but his focus never left her face.“Ivy, stay with me,” he whispered. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”Only when the paramedics began to cut open his shirt did Van glance down and notice the dark crimson stain spreading across his back and shoulder. The pain, which had been dulled by adrenaline and fear, now surged forward like a crashing wave.“You’ve been shot,” one of the paramedics said with a jolt of alarm. “Sir, we need to get you stabilized— you're losing blood fast.”Van blinked at him, confused for a moment. Shot? He hadn’t e
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 188. Waiting Room
The ticking of the wall clock was louder than it had any right to be.Ivy sat in the too-bright waiting room, wrapped in a thin hospital blanket, her hospital gown feeling too light against the cold plastic chair. The nurses had tried to convince her to wait in her ward but Ivy just couldn't. She needed to be closer to him, if it was possible for her to be in the operating room with him, she wouldn't hesitate. Her fingers kept pressing lightly to her belly, over and over again, as if reminding herself that the baby was still there. That life was still there.But Van…She exhaled shakily, fingers curling against the blanket in her lap. Every second felt like an hour. Somewhere down the corridor, behind a set of sterile double doors, the man who had thrown his own life aside to save hers was lying unconscious, his fate in the hands of strangers.Her mind wouldn’t stop replaying the last few hours. The moment they were pulled from the wreckage, the blood on Van’s back. How pale he had l
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 189. The Calm Before The Storm
Slowly, the world returned in pieces.A dull ache pulsed through Van’s shoulder first, then the sting of dryness in his throat. The sound of beeping. Soft voices from around him. The antiseptic smell of a hospital room.His eyelids were heavy, but the moment he forced them open, the first thing he saw was her.Ivy.She sat at the edge of his bed, eyes red from crying too much, her fingers laced tightly with his. Her head was bowed, her other hand gently resting on her stomach. Her body was still, but tension radiated off her like heat.“Ivy…” His voice came out rough and hoarse.At the sound of his voice, her head immediately shot up, eyes wide as she stared at him. “Van?”He gave a slight nod, wincing at the way his muscles screamed in protest.“You’re awake,” she whispered, like she couldn’t believe it. Her fingers tightened around his. “You’re really awake.”He managed a small smile. “I told you… I’d be okay.”“Idiot,” she muttered, her eyes filling with fresh tears as she leaned i
From Prison Bars To Gold Bars. 190. Suspicions
Van sat propped up in his hospital bed, the sterile scent of antiseptic clinging to the air. The dull beeping of machines and distant shuffle of footsteps in the corridor formed a steady background hum, but his attention was focused solely on Ivy, who sat curled up in the plastic chair beside him. The blanket she’d pulled from the foot of his bed was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, as if it could shield her from the weight of everything they'd just been through.They had been talking about baby names—well, trying to."You know, I just think we should wait until the first scan before we settle on anything," Van had said, adjusting the hospital gown that hung awkwardly on his shoulders. He winced slightly as he moved—his shoulder still ached from the impact.Ivy shook her head, her dark eyes set with quiet resolve. “No. I don’t want to know.”“What?”“I don't want to do a gender revealing scan. I want it to be a surprise.”Van chuckled lightly, then coughed. “You’re serious about
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220. The Raid
The black SUV tore through the city streets, weaving between cars and running red lights.Rain slapped against the windshield in heavy sheets, turning the world into a blur of lights and shadows.Van sat in the passenger seat, jaw tight, fingers tapping a restless rhythm on his knee.Beside him, Keller drove like a man possessed, silent and focused.Carla sat in the back, double-checking the blueprints of the warehouse on her tablet."Franklin and Third," she muttered."Two floors. Old textile plant. Abandoned for years. No security cameras, no neighbors — perfect place to stash someone."Van’s stomach twisted.It was too perfect.He kept flashing back to Vance’s words: If they think you’re coming, they’ll move her—or worse.He couldn't afford to think about what worse meant.Not now.Not when they were this close.They arrived in less than fifteen minutes.The warehouse loomed out of the mist like a dead thing — gray, crumbling, windows shattered, rust eating through the metal doors.
219. Confession
The air inside the van was thick with tension.Julian Vance sat slumped against the wall, wrists cuffed to a metal ring bolted to the floor.The blindfold was gone, but fear had carved deep lines into his face.Sweat soaked through his shirt despite the cold night air.Across from him, Van leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, studying him like a puzzle that needed solving.Keller sat beside Van, silent and looming, while Carla hovered near the door, tablet in hand, recording everything.No one spoke for a long moment.They let the fear do its work first.Vance fidgeted, his eyes darting from face to face, looking for a crack, a kindness.He found none.Finally, Keller broke the silence."You know who we are," he said calmly."You know why you’re here."Vance licked his lips."I—I’m just an accountant," he stammered."I don’t know anything."Keller smiled thinly."You know enough to get yourself killed. Or saved. Your choice."Vance’s hands twisted in the cuffs."I can’t," he whisper
218. The Aftermath
The night was soaked in the heavy stench of gunpowder and rain.Sirens howled in the distance — getting closer — but Agent Keller’s team moved fast.They swept the abandoned lot, securing what little evidence Moses had left behind: a few casings, tire tracks gouged deep into the mud, a broken phone.It wasn’t enough.Moses had disappeared like a phantom into the night, and worse — he had seen through the setup.Van had barely made it out alive.Inside the mobile command van, Keller slammed his fist against the table."Someone tipped him off," he growled."There’s no way he walked into that meeting with backup unless he knew we were coming."Carla sat beside Van, wrapping a makeshift bandage around his bleeding arm.Her hands were steady, but her face was grim.Van winced as the gauze tightened, but he barely felt the pain.His mind was somewhere else.A traitor.Someone inside their circle.Someone who had sold them out to Moses.Keller paced furiously, barking orders into his radio,
217. The Hunt
The plan was simple on paper.Simple, but dangerous.Van stood at the cracked concrete window of a forgotten motel room on the edge of the city, watching the rain smear the world into gray blurs.Inside the room, Agent Keller was setting up equipment — laptops, burner phones, tiny recorders the size of coins — while Carla scribbled notes furiously into a weathered notebook.Van’s nerves hummed under his skin.He wasn’t a cop.He wasn’t a spy.He was just a man trying to survive.And now, somehow, he was about to help bring down one of the most powerful men in the city."Here’s the plan," Keller said, pulling Van’s attention back.He laid out a rough blueprint of the next 48 hours:Van would reach out to Moses — casual, non-threatening — suggest a meeting under the pretense of "burying the hatchet."Offer him information.Play on his paranoia.The idea was to draw Moses out.Get him somewhere isolated.Somewhere they could grab him without witnesses.If they could catch Moses talking —
216. Warehouse Meeting
Van’s mind was spinning as he approached the dilapidated warehouse by the docks.The wind whipped at his coat, the sound of waves crashing against the concrete pier mixing with the distant hum of city traffic.This place had once been a hub of activity, a center of trade and industry.Now, it was just a hollow skeleton, abandoned and forgotten.Perfect.It was the kind of place where you could disappear without a trace.Van approached cautiously, his footsteps echoing in the empty street.The docks were deserted at this hour, save for a few stray cats rummaging through trash.No sign of anyone watching.But he knew better than to assume that meant safety.They were out there.Someone was always watching.His fingers brushed against the rough stone of the warehouse’s exterior as he rounded the corner.A single light flickered above the entrance, casting long, crooked shadows.A thick metal door was ajar, just enough to let him slip inside.Van hesitated for a moment, then pushed it ope
215. Late Warning
The city looked different in the dead of night.From the back of the taxi, Van saw it all pass in a blur — the glimmering skyline, the fog rolling across the river, the endless rows of apartments stacked up like cheap cardboard boxes.But it was the shadows he saw most clearly.The places where people hid their sins.Van rubbed his fingers over the cracked screen of Bianca’s phone.The evidence was still fresh in his mind — too fresh. The videos, the photos, the recordings.He hadn’t even begun to process it all.But he couldn’t stop now.He couldn’t let them win.The taxi rolled to a stop at the airport’s long-term parking lot.Van didn’t get out.Instead, he stared through the windshield at the flickering terminal lights, his thoughts spiraling.Was this it?Was he about to leave everything behind?Ivy, the kids, his life as he knew it?He couldn’t.He wouldn’t.But he also couldn’t stay.He needed allies.Van stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver in cash before walking throug
214. Secrets
Van didn’t go straight home. He knew better. If they were watching him — and after tonight, he was sure of it — bringing danger to Ivy and the kids would be unforgivable. Instead, he drove to a cheap motel on the edge of town, the kind of place nobody asked questions and the cameras were either broken or faked. The neon VACANCY sign buzzed weakly against the rain-soaked sky as Van pulled into the lot. Room 12 smelled like mold and old cigarettes, but it had a lock on the door and curtains thick enough to block the world out. For now, that was enough. He locked the door, jammed a chair under the knob, and dumped the soaked backpack on the stained mattress. He pulled out Bianca’s phone with trembling hands. Still wet. Still cracked. Still hers. Van sat down heavily and got to work. First step: dry the phone. He stripped it carefully, removing the battered SIM card and the microSD tucked into the side. Both small enough to fit in his wallet. He left the phone shell near
213. Hidden Tunnels
The marina was deserted. The storm had driven everyone indoors, and the usual hum of yacht engines and tourist chatter was replaced by the howl of the wind against steel masts. Boats bobbed violently in the dark water, their ropes creaking like dying animals. Van parked three blocks away and approached on foot, keeping to the shadows. The piece of paper with the coordinates was damp in his pocket, but he had already memorized them. The entrance to the old service tunnels wasn’t easy to find. Most people didn’t even know they existed — relics from when the marina had been part of a naval shipyard decades ago. Now, the city had simply built over them, sealing the past under concrete and forgetting. But Van remembered. His father had worked the shipyards once, before everything went wrong. He found the access point tucked behind a rusted utility shed — a heavy steel hatch, half-hidden by tangled vines. He tugged at the handle. Locked. Van gritted his teeth, pulled a crowbar
212. Meeting In The Rain
The storm didn’t let up.It pounded the city in thick, angry sheets, flooding gutters, choking the storm drains, turning alleyways into rivers of filth.Van watched it from the living room window, one hand curled around a cold cup of coffee.He hadn’t slept.He couldn’t.Not with the bloody scrap locked away in his desk drawer.Not with Ivy pretending everything was fine for the kids’ sake.At 2:37 a.m., his phone buzzed again.Unknown Number.Van snatched it up.A text this time.MEET ME.PARKER’S GARAGE. 4AM. COME ALONE.No signature.No instructions.But Van already knew he was going.★★★Parker’s Garage was an old, abandoned auto shop on the east side, gutted years ago after a fire.Van remembered it from his teenage years — a place where kids would go to drink, fight, and hide from the world.He drove through the drowned streets, headlights cutting through the rain like a blade.The city felt deserted, haunted.Every instinct told him this was a trap.He went anyway.He pulled up
