The Million Dollar Janitor

Chapter 10 The Watcher's Game

Evan Creed hit the penthouse floor hard, bullets tearing through the air above him. Glass shattered, Elena’s scream cut short as Kane’s suits stormed in—five of them, guns blazing, loyal to the silver-haired snake who’d just flipped the table.

Kane stood calm, suit unruffled, that thin smile still on his face. “Council’s mine now,” he’d said, voice cool as ice. Evan rolled behind a flipped couch, pistol gripped tight, heart slamming. Elena scrambled for cover, red dress streaked with wine and panic. Kane wasn’t just a player—he was rewriting the game.

Evan fired—two wild shots, clipping a suit’s shoulder. The guy grunted, stumbling, but the others fanned out, pros not punks. Kane’s crew—sharper, quieter than Voss’s bruisers or Russo’s

loudmouths. Evan’s earpiecrackled—Mia’s voice, frantic: “Evan, cops closing—Voss and Russo too! Get out!” The Syndicate’s chaos was colliding, and Kane stood above it, watching like a hawk.

“Kane!” Evan yelled, popping up, gun aimed. “You set this up—her, me, all of it!”

Kane tilted his head, hands clasped like he was at a meeting, not a shootout. “Set up? No, Evan. I waited. You’re the spark—Voss bleeds, Russo whines, Elena overreaches. I just light the fire.” He stepped back, suits shielding him. “You’re Tommy’s kid—stubborn. I like that.”

Evan’s blood boiled—Tommy’s name again, a ghost Kane kept dragging up. “You knew him—spill it!” A suit lunged; Evan ducked, slamming the guy’s face into the couch. Bone crunched—out cold. Four left, plus Kane.

Elena hissed from behind the bar, “He’s a liar, Creed! He’ll bury you too!” Her cool was gone—traitor unmasked, now prey. Kane chuckled, low and dry.

“Bury? No,” he said. “Tommy was useful—till he wasn’t. You might be too.” He waved—suits tightened, guns steady. Evan dove again, bullets ripping fabric where he’d been. He needed out, but Kane’s words stuck—useful? Tommy? Who was this guy?

The penthouse shook—sirens wailed close, red and blue flashing through shattered windows. Kane’s smile twitched. “Time’s up, Evan. Run—or join me.” He turned, strolling for the stairs like it was nothing. His suits held, firing steady.

Evan grabbed a fallen lamp—heavy, brass—and hurled it. It smashed a suit’s head; guy dropped. Three now. He bolted for the service stairs, same way he’d escaped before—janitor instincts kicking in. Shots chased him, sparking off metal. He hit the stairwell, boots pounding, mind racing. Kane wasn’t Voss’s rage or Elena’s greed—he was cold, calculated, a watcher who’d played them all. But why Tommy? Why him?

He burst outside—Mia’s sedan screeched up, Ricky in the back, bat bloody. “Go!” Evan yelled, diving in. Mia floored it, tires squealing past cop cars piling into the block. Voss’s trucks rumbled nearby, Russo’s crew shouting—Syndicate war spilling over. Evan panted, “Kane’s taking it—Elena’s done.”

Ricky grunted, wiping sweat. “Silver-hair’s slick—those suits weren’t messing.”

Mia swerved, eyes on her laptop. “Files say Kane’s old school—Hale’s brain trust. Tech guy—cameras, hacks, quiet cash. Been with Syndicate forever.” She glanced back. “He’s winning—Voss and Russo are loud, but he’s deep.”

Evan clutched the key—Hale’s stash, Tommy’s fight. “He knew my dad—said he was useful. What’s his deal?” Kane’s calm stuck out—council’s chaos didn’t touch him. Evan needed the backstory—Mia’s files were gold.

She tapped fast, dodging traffic. “Here—Kane, Daniel Kane, fifty-two. Grew up South Side—poor, smart, climbed fast. Tech whiz—hacked banks in the ‘90s, caught Hale’s eye. Joined Syndicate young—twenty, maybe. Hale’s shadow, not muscle like Tommy.’

Evan leaned in, city blurring past. “Shadow how?”

Mia scrolled—photos, old articles. “Kane built the systems—security, wire taps, offshore accounts. Hale’s eyes everywhere—Kane ran ‘em. Quiet power—Voss broke knees, Russo flashed cash, Tommy fought streets. Kane watched, learned. Files say he warned Hale about leaks—Tommy too. Never trusted Elena or Marcus.”

Evan’s gut twisted. “Warned Tommy? Then why’s he dead?”

Mia frowned. “Hale’s notes—Kane pushed for Tommy to dig. ‘Find the rot,’ he said. Tommy found Elena—died for it. Kane sat back—clean hands. Next day, he’s council, Hale’s right hand.”

Ricky whistled. “Guy’s a spider—web’s everywhere.”

Evan nodded, piecing it. Kane’s backstory clicked—South Side kid, scrappy like him, but smarter, colder. Hacked his way up, no blood on his shoes. Tommy was the fist, Kane the brain—Hale’s balance. When Elena moved, Kane didn’t swing—he waited, let Tommy fall, Hale die. Now he played Evan—same game, new pawn.

“Cops lost us,” Mia said, pulling into an alley—dark, safe. “Voss and Russo are clashing—Kane’s free. Files show his base—tech hub, north side. Cameras, guards—his castle.”

Evan gripped the gun—five bullets left. “We hit it. End him.” Kane’s calm pissed him off—Tommy’s death, Hale’s fall, all pieces he’d watched drop. “He’s the real power—council’s his now.”

Ricky grinned. “Smash a nerd? Easy.”

Mia hesitated. “It’s tight—security’s his game. I can hack cameras, but guards? Tough.”

Evan pulled the cash—Hale’s stash, Voss’s loot. “Buy help. Street guys—Ricky’s bouncer pals. We’re small, but fast.” He tossed Ricky a stack. “Get ‘em—now.”

Ricky bolted, cash in hand—big guy moved quick when he smelled a fight. Mia hacked—north side map glowed. “Kane’s hub—old factory, wired up. Back door’s weak—service hatch, my way in.” She smirked. “You’re crazy, Evan.”

“Crazy’s alive,” he said, checking the files—Kane’s life unrolled. Born dirt-poor, mom sick, dad gone—hacked ATMs at sixteen, fed his family. Syndicate scooped him—Hale saw a kid who thought ten steps ahead. Kane rigged deals—cops bribed, rivals framed—all without a fist. Tommy joined later—bruiser to Kane’s brain. Files hinted Kane liked him—trusted him—till Elena’s cash grab. Kane stepped back, let the axe fall. Why?

Evan’s phone buzzed—blank screen, then: You’re late. Traitor’s alive. He cursed—Elena wasn’t dead, just cornered. Kane knew—played it perfect. “He’s baiting me,” Evan said. “Wants me to crack.”

Ricky rolled back—three guys trailing, rough, eager. “Bouncers—Tony, Jay, Mike. Cash talks—they’re in.” Tony cracked knuckles—huge, scarred. Jay twirled a chain—lean, mean. Mike hefted a crowbar—quiet, solid.

Evan nodded. “Kane’s north—tech hole. We hit hard, fast. Mia’s eyes, we’re fists.” He split the cash—each got a cut, eyes lighting up. Syndicate’s money turned nobodies into soldiers—real as it got.

They piled in—Mia’s sedan groaned under the weight. North side loomed—factory squat, dark, cameras glinting. Mia parked a block off, hacking fast. “Cameras looped—five guards, back hatch clear.” She handed Evan an earpiece. “Go.”

They crept—Evan led, gun up, Ricky’s crew fanning out. Hatch rusted—Evan pried it, quiet, janitor style. Inside: hum of servers, glow of screens—Kane’s nerve center. Two guards chatted—Evan nodded; Tony and Jay pounced—fists flew, silent takedowns. Mike dragged ‘em aside.

Deeper—stairs to a control room. Kane waited—alone, screens behind him flashing Syndicate feeds: Voss’s trucks burning, Russo’s club raided, Elena’s penthouse swarmed. He turned, smile faint. “Evan. Persistent.”

“You killed Tommy,” Evan said, gun steady. “Watched him die.”

Kane sighed, leaning on a desk—old, tired for a second, then sharp again. “Tommy was good—best I knew. South Side like me—hungry, loyal. I pushed him to dig—Elena’s rot stank. He found it—died for it. I couldn’t stop her then.” He straightened. “Hale’s fault—trusted too much.”

Evan’s finger twitched. “You let it happen—now me?”

“No,” Kane said. “You’re different—raw, messy. Syndicate’s breaking—Voss and Russo bleed, Elena’s trapped, Marcus hides. I’ll rebuild—clean. Join me, Evan. Tommy’s kid deserves it.”

Ricky growled, bat up. “He’s full of it.”

Evan hesitated—Kane’s eyes held no lie, just cold truth. South Side scrappy turned Syndicate brain—no blood, all chess. He’d watched Tommy rise, fall—now Evan. Real power wasn’t fists—it was this: waiting, winning. “You’re the council,” Evan said. “Why me?”

“You’re chaos,” Kane said. “They can’t predict you—I can use that.” He tapped a screen—cash flows, Syndicate veins. “Hale’s gone—empire’s mine. Help me hold it.”

A crash—doors below burst. Voss’s voice roared—scarred bastard stormed in, crew bloody, guns hot. “Kane! Creed! You’re done!”

Kane’s smile vanished. “Time’s up, Evan—pick a side.”