The Million Dollar Janitor

Chapter 12 The vault of Trust

Evan Creed stood over the open vault at the north docks, the key still warm in his hand. Cash spilled out—thick stacks of hundreds—alongside files that could bury the Syndicate. Kane’s backups, his ace, glowed in the dim crane shed. A note from the pile—“Tommy saw—chaos wins”—hit Evan like a punch. Tommy’s ghost was everywhere—his dad, betrayed, tied to this steel box of secrets. Engines roared outside—Kane’s limo screeched to a stop, suits piling out, guns gleaming in the dawn light. Evan’s crew tensed—Ricky with his bat, Tony’s fists clenched, Jay’s chain swinging, Mike’s crowbar steady. Mia hunched in the sedan, laptop glowing, earpiece crackling: “They’re here—ten, armed!”

Evan grabbed a stack of files—Kane’s play, now his. “Spread out!” he yelled, diving behind a crate. The vault’s cash tempted—more than he’d ever dreamed—but Kane’s voice cut sharper: “Evan, you’re predictable.” Calm, cold, stepping from the limo like he owned the docks—which, maybe, he did.

Ricky growled, bat up. “Predict this!” He swung at air—warning, not hit—suits fanned, cautious. Evan peeked—Kane’s crew wasn’t Voss’s wild dogs or Russo’s loud punks. These guys moved tight, trained, Kane’s quiet steel. The council’s brain had played the long game—Tommy’s death, Hale’s fall, Evan’s rise—all pieces on his board.

“You’ve got my vault,” Kane said, hands clasped, suit crisp despite the chaos. “Impressive. Tommy’d be proud—messy, stubborn, South Side through and through.” His smile twitched—almost human, then gone. “Give it up—join me. Syndicate’s mine; you’re the spark I need.”

Evan’s gun steadied—two bullets left. “Spark? You let Tommy die—watched Elena cut him. I’m not your dog.” He glanced at the note—chaos wins. Kane’s words, Hale’s warning, Tommy’s fight. “You’re alone—council’s done.”

Kane chuckled, dry as dust. “Alone? Voss bleeds, Russo bends, Elena’s trapped, Marcus cowers—I’m the council now. You’re chaos, Evan—raw, unpolished. I shape it.” He waved—suits tightened, barrels glinting. “Last chance.”

A shot cracked—not Kane’s—Ricky’s crew jumped. Tony roared, tackling a suit—fists flew, blood sprayed. Jay’s chain lashed—metal met skull, guy dropped. Mike swung—crowbar smashed a gun hand, pistol clattered. Evan fired—one shot grazed a suit’s arm—down to one bullet. Kane stepped back, unruffled, letting his dogs bite.

Evan dove—crate to crate, files clutched. “Ricky—door!” The shed’s back exit glowed—narrow, rusted. Ricky barreled, bat cracking a suit’s ribs—path cleared. Evan yelled, “Go!”—Tony, Jay, Mike piled through, Evan last. Bullets sparked—Kane’s crew chased, precise but slow. Mia’s sedan revved outside—door flung open.

They dove in—Evan’s chest heaved, files slipping. “Drive!” he barked—Mia floored it, tires screaming past cranes and water. Kane’s limo rolled slow—confident, not rushed. “He’s got more,” Evan panted, checking the crew—Tony bled, Jay cursed, Mike wiped sweat. Ricky grinned, bat dented but solid.

Mia swerved, docks fading. “Cops on Voss—Russo’s tied up—Kane’s clean still.” She tapped the laptop—feeds buzzed. “Files say north docks were his fallback—cash, dirt, Syndicate soul. You’ve got it now.”

Evan flipped the files—Kane’s empire unrolled: tech deals, bribes, hits logged cold. Tommy’s name—“Asset, loyal, terminated—E’s call.” Elena’s move—Kane’s watch. “He knew,” Evan said, voice tight. “Let her kill him—Hale too. Built this instead.” Cash flows—millions—tied to Kane’s quiet hands.

Ricky leaned in. “So he’s king—why you?”

“Chaos,” Evan said, echoing Kane. “Voss fights, Russo folds—Kane shapes. I’m the mess he can’t predict.” He gripped the gun—one shot, one chance. “We end him—vault’s ours.”

Mia nodded, alley looming—safe, dark. “His hub’s toast—Voss hit it. Next spot—old office, downtown. Small crew, big tech—his brain.” She smirked. “I can fry it.”

“Do it,” Evan said, splitting cash—each got a cut, eyes hungry. “Tony, Jay, Mike—rest up, spread word—Syndicate’s cracking. Ricky, we hit Kane—quiet, fast.” They piled out—junkyard shadows swallowed the sedan. Evan clutched the files—Kane’s life, Syndicate’s guts—Tommy’s proof staring back.

Ricky cracked knuckles. “Office smash—my kinda night.”

Evan grinned, grim. “Yeah—Kane’s done watching.” They moved—city waking, horns blaring. Downtown towered—Kane’s office hid in a glass slab, unmarked, sleek. Mia hacked—cameras looped, two guards inside. Evan led—gun up, Ricky’s bat ready—service door creaked, janitor trick prying it open.

Inside—servers hummed, screens glowed—Kane’s eyes on Chicago. Guards lounged—Evan nodded; Ricky swung—bat met jaw, silent drop. Second guy turned—Evan’s fist cracked his nose—down, out. They dragged ‘em aside—tech sprawled, Syndicate’s nerve center.

Evan plugged Mia’s USB—her voice crackled: “Wiping it—Kane’s blind now.” Screens flickered—files burned, cash trails smoked. A safe sat—small, steel—key fit perfect. Click—more cash, a ledger—Kane’s hand: “E’s betrayal—Tommy’s loss—rebuild alone.”

“He planned it,” Evan said, voice low. “Tommy died—Kane waited—council fell—he rose.” Real—cold, South Side survival turned Syndicate king. Loyalty was a tool—Tommy’s broke him free.

Ricky hefted cash. “Guy’s a ghost—rich ghost.”

“Yeah,” Evan said, pocketing the ledger. “Not for long.” Mia’s hack hummed—Kane’s empire blinked out—cops, rivals, no eyes now. “We’ve got his soul—hit him where it hurts.”

They slipped out—city buzzed, Syndicate fraying. Mia pulled up—Tony, Jay, Mike back, plus three new guys—street rough, cash-bought. “Word’s out,” Tony said, grinning. “Council’s done—Kane’s slipping.”

Evan nodded—crew growing, chaos spreading. “Russo’s flipped—tied in the club. Voss’s down—cops or blood. Elena’s hiding—Kane’s next.” He split more cash—loyalty bought cheap, held tight. “Find her—pressure him.”

They split—Ricky’s crew hit streets, Mia tracked—Elena’s penthouse silent, but a signal pinged: south side, warehouse, faint. “She’s there,” Mia said, eyes sharp. “Kane’s too—limo’s GPS.”

Evan gripped the gun—one bullet—ledger heavy. “Both—now.” They rolled—south side loomed, gritty, real—warehouses squat, shadows deep. The target—old, brick, windows dark—two cars sat: Kane’s limo, Elena’s sedan. Trap or truce?

Evan crept close—Ricky beside, crew fanning. A guard slumped—dead, throat cut—Elena’s style. Inside—voices snapped—Kane’s cool, Elena’s shrill. Evan peeked—Kane stood, gun loose, Elena pacing, bloody knife in hand. “You let Creed run!” she spat. “My move—your fault!”

Kane shrugged. “Your mess—Tommy, Hale. I warned—rebuild’s mine.” He smiled—ice-cold. “He’s here—chaos comes.”

Evan stepped in—gun up, one shot left. “Game’s over—both of you.” Ricky’s crew burst—bats, chains, crowbars swinging—guards dropped fast, blood sprayed. Elena lunged—knife flashed—Evan dodged, elbow cracking her jaw. She fell, groaning—Kane fired—bullet grazed Evan’s arm, burning.

Evan shot back—one hit Kane’s leg—down he went, calm breaking. “Tommy’s kid,” Kane panted, clutching. “Good play.”

Ricky loomed—bat high—Elena scrambled, knife up—Tony tackled—fight spilled. Mia yelled—“Cops—close!” Sirens wailed—red and blue flashed—Syndicate’s end crashing in.

Evan grabbed the ledger—Kane’s truth—cash scattered—chaos won. “You’re done,” he said, backing off—crew tight, exit near. Kane smirked, blood pooling: “Not yet—watch.”

A roar—Voss’s truck smashed through—scarred bastard alive, guns blazing.