The Million Dollar Janitor

Chapter 9 The Council's Gambit

Evan Creed stared down ten guns in Elena’s penthouse, the Syndicate’s trap snapping shut around him. Marble floors gleamed under chandelier light, a sharp contrast to the blood pounding in his ears.

Elena stood cool and smug, red dress hugging her like a warning, wine glass back in hand. “Game’s mine now,” she repeated, voice smooth as silk but hard as steel. Ricky gripped his bat beside Evan,

breath heavy, ready to swing despite the odds. Ten suits—big, trained, Syndicate muscle—fanned out, blocking every exit. Evan’s pistol felt small, useless against this.

“You set us up,” Evan said, voice rough, gun steady but heart racing. Elena killed Hale, maybe Tommy too—her quiet game outplayed Voss’s fists and Russo’s noise. The council’s power dance just got real, and Evan was the pawn caught in it.

Elena tilted her head, smirking. “Set up? No, Evan. I waited. Voss and Russo ran wild—you hit them, stirred the pot. I just scooped the prize.” She sipped her wine, eyes glinting. “Hale’s empire needed pruning. You’re the weed I’ll yank.”

Ricky growled, stepping forward. “Lady, you talk too much.” A suit twitched—gun up—but Elena waved him off, casual, like swatting a fly.

“Easy, big man,” she said. “You’re fun, but this isn’t a bar fight.” She paced, heels clicking. “The Syndicate’s a machine—Hale built it, Tommy oiled it, I steer it now. Voss wants blood, Russo wants flash, Kane wants control, Marcus wants cash. Me? I want it all.”

Evan’s jaw tightened. The council’s cracks weren’t just talk—here they were, raw and messy. Five bosses, five agendas, one throne. He’d hit Voss’s stash, bruised Russo’s ego, dodged Kane’s game—now Elena showed her teeth. “You killed my dad,” he said, low and mean. “For this?”

Elena paused, smile fading. “Tommy was sharp—too sharp. Saw me moving cash, questioned Hale. Loyalty’s sweet till it’s dumb.” She shrugged. “He had to go. Hale followed—old heart couldn’t take the truth.”

Evan’s grip shook—anger, not fear. Tommy wasn’t a drunk who bailed; he was a soldier, betrayed. “Truth?” he spat. “You’re a snake.”

“Call it what you want,” Elena said, stepping closer, wine swirling. “Syndicate’s power isn’t fists or guns—it’s money, secrets, who blinks first. I don’t. Voss swings, Russo struts, Kane plots, Marcus hoards—they blink. I win.”

A suit coughed—nervous, young. Evan caught it—her crew wasn’t solid. Power dynamics, real as dirt: Elena ruled by fear, not trust. He filed it away, mind spinning. “So why trap me? I’m nobody.”

“You’re Tommy’s blood,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Hale’s wild card—phone, key, vault. You’re a glitch I can’t have.” She nodded at the suits. “Take him. Quiet.”

Ricky swung before they moved—bat cracked a kneecap, guy dropped howling. Evan fired—two shots, wild but loud, shattering a mirror. Chaos erupted—suits lunged, bullets flew. Evan dove behind a couch, dragging Ricky down. Glass rained, wine splattered. Elena shouted, “Alive, you idiots!”

Evan’s earpiece crackled—Mia’s voice, frantic. “Cameras back on—cops coming! Get out!” Her loop failed—perfect timing, awful luck. Evan peeked—three suits down, seven still up, Elena ducking behind a bar. He grabbed a fallen knife—janitor habit, tools anywhere—and slashed a suit’s leg. Guy screamed, tumbling.

Ricky roared, bat smashing another’s arm—bone snapped loud. “Door!” Evan yelled, spotting a side exit—service stairs, narrow but clear. They bolted, suits firing sloppy now, panicked by cop sirens wailing closer. Elena’s cool cracked—her trap was crumbling.

They hit the stairs, boots pounding, walls tight. Evan’s lungs burned, but he pushed—Ricky’s heavy steps echoed behind. “She’s slick,” Ricky panted. “Council’s a damn zoo.”

“Yeah,” Evan said, hitting the ground floor. “And we’re the meat.” Mia’s sedan screeched up—door flung open. They dove in, tires spinning as she floored it. Sirens blared—red and blue flashing two blocks back. “Cops hers?” Evan asked, catching his breath.

Mia shook her head, weaving through traffic. “No—real ones. Syndicate’s got pull, but this is loud. Elena’s pissed ‘em off too.” She tossed Evan the laptop. “Files updated—council’s scrambling.”

Evan flipped it open—texts, calls, Syndicate chatter Mia hacked. Voss raged: “Creed hit my garage—Elena’s next.” Russo whined: “Kid’s got my club locked—cops everywhere.” Kane typed calm: “Let him run. He’ll crack.” Marcus grumbled: “Vault’s mine—find that key.” Elena’s line was silent—too silent.

“They’re breaking,” Evan said, grinning despite the sweat. “Voss and Russo bleed, Kane waits, Marcus whines, Elena overplayed.”

Mia nodded. “Power’s slipping—Hale held ‘em tight. Now it’s dog-eat-dog.” She swerved—cop lights faded. “Where to?”

“Hide,” Evan said. “Regroup. They’re split—we hit the gaps.” He clutched the key—Syndicate’s heart, whatever it opened. Tommy died for this mess; Evan wouldn’t. Not yet.

They ditched the car in a junkyard—rusted hulks, perfect cover. Mia hauled her gear, Ricky his bat, Evan the bag—cash, guns, ledger. They crouched in a busted van, city waking loud around them. Evan spread the loot—hundreds spilled, glinting dull. “This is it,” he said. “Syndicate’s juice—money, muscle, dirt.”

Ricky whistled. “Enough to buy a crew.”

“Or burn ‘em,” Mia said, tapping the laptop. “Look—Hale’s last deal before Elena’s cash grab. Warehouse, south docks—big shipment, drugs or guns. Voss signed, Russo too. Kane passed, Marcus fought, Elena cashed it. Next day, Hale’s dead.”

Evan’s eyes narrowed. “Shipment’s the key—literally?” He held it up—old, notched, Syndicate-stamped. “What’s it open?”

Mia dug deeper—maps, logs. “Locker—south docks, hidden in a crane shed. Hale’s stash—emergency fund, maybe secrets. Council doesn’t know—Elena thinks it’s hers.”

Evan grinned, mean. “We take it. Bleed ‘em more.” Power dynamics clicked—council’s greed split them. Voss and Russo chased muscle, lost cash. Kane played long, Elena short. Marcus hoarded—weak link. “Ricky, we hit the shed. Mia, watch their moves.”

They rolled south—city gritty, real. Docks smelled of fish and diesel, workers shouting over cranes. The shed loomed—small, rusted, unmarked. Evan crept close, key out. A guard—lone, sleepy—leaned on a crate. Ricky tapped his bat—Evan nodded. Crack—guard slumped, out cold.

Evan slid the key in—lock clicked, door groaned open. Inside: a steel box, dusty but solid. He pried it—cash, stacks thick as bricks, plus files—photos, names, Syndicate dirt. A note from Hale: “Council’s rot—trust Tommy, no one else.” Evan’s throat caught—Tommy’s fight, his fight now.

Ricky stuffed cash in the bag. “We’re rich, man.”

“Not yet,” Evan said, grabbing files. “This is ammo—council’s end.” He flipped—Voss’s payoffs to cops, Russo’s club scams, Kane’s tech deals, Marcus’s offshore banks. Elena’s big move—cash siphoned, Hale’s death timed. “She’s the traitor—proof.”

Mia’s earpiece buzzed. “Trouble—Voss’s crew, two blocks out. Russo’s too—separate, mad. Cops tailing both.”

Evan’s pulse spiked. “They’re crashing—power’s slipping.” Syndicate’s grip frayed—Voss and Russo brawled for turf, Kane watched, Marcus hid, Elena overestimated. “We split—hit ‘em where they bleed.”

They hauled out, dodging dock hands. Mia mapped—Voss’s crew hit a bar, Russo’s a warehouse, cops circling both. Evan split the cash—half to Ricky, half to Mia. “Buy time—mess ‘em up. I’ll find Elena.”

Ricky grinned, bat up. “Bar fight’s my jam.” He peeled off, cash bulging his jacket. Mia hacked traffic cams—cops rerouted, Voss delayed. “Go,” she said, eyes on the screen.

Evan hit downtown—Elena’s penthouse towered, still buzzing from the fight. He slipped in—doorman gone, chaos fresh. Stairs, not elevator—quiet, his way. Top floor—door ajar, voices sharp. Elena’s, plus another—deep, familiar. Kane.

Evan peeked—Elena paced, Kane sat, suit crisp. “Voss and Russo are done,” she snapped. “Creed’s a pest—your plan’s failing.”

Kane smiled, cool. “He’s splitting you—perfect. I’ll take the scraps.” He sipped water, calm as death. “Marcus bends, you break.”

Elena spun, furious. “I break nothing—Hale’s mine!”

Evan’s blood boiled—Kane played them all, Elena too blind. He stepped in, gun up. “Game’s over.”

They froze—Elena’s wine dropped, Kane’s smile twitched. “Evan,” Kane said, slow. “Bold.

“Traitor’s you,” Evan said to Elena, tossing Hale’s note. “Proof—Tommy, Hale, your cash grab.”

Elena laughed, shaky. “Proof? You’re a janitor—”

Kane cut in, standing. “He’s enough.” He nodded—doors burst, suits rushed—not Elena’s, Kane’s. “Council’s mine now.”

Evan dove—bullets flew, Elena screamed, chaos reigned.