Chapter 61: I Need to Change My Shipping Address
"Oh, my foolish little brother," Ron waved dismissively, cutting Leonard off before he could say anything. "Here's a simple solution: you guys—yes, including Collins—can keep sharing your four-person combo meal. I'll just order something for myself."
"But the food comes out together!"
Sheldon threw another tantrum like a spoiled child. But Ron, having known his brother for years, was already prepared.
"You can just pretend I'm a phantom from a parallel universe sitting beside you. How's that? Problem solved?"
"What does that mean?" Collins leaned in and whispered in Ron's ear, her breath tickling his skin and making both his body and his heart tingle.
This girl… she's dangerous.
And the worst part? She had no idea what she was doing—completely unconscious seduction.
"It's one of Sheldon's sacred incantations from his personal user manual," Ron whispered back, then looked at Sheldon. "Well?"
After a long and dramatic pause of deep contemplation, Sheldon finally nodded. "Fine. That works."
Dinner was saved.
---
After the meal, Ron turned down Sheldon's invitation to play Halo and insisted on driving Collins home instead.
Video games? Compared to spending time with a beautiful woman? Please.
Sure, Collins was technically off-limits, but that didn't stop him from rerouting the drive to head toward Max's place afterward.
Except... things didn't go as planned.
"Goodnight, Ron~" Collins waved reluctantly as she stepped out of the car.
Ron gave a casual wave in return, started the engine, and had barely turned out of the neighborhood when his phone buzzed.
"FXXK," he muttered, snatching up the phone, ready to silence whoever dared interrupt his evening plans. But when he saw the caller ID, his face tensed.
It was the Boss.
No way he could ignore that.
"Evening, Boss," Ron answered, suppressing a sigh. "Didn't think you were the kind to make evening calls."
Boss's voice, as always, was calm and authoritative. "I need you to handle something."
"What's the job?"
"I need you to go to Miami. Now. Immediately."
"Miami?!" Ron nearly shouted.
From L.A. to Miami? That was the entire U.S. coast-to-coast! In the middle of the night?
"Boss, can I at least ask why?"
Ron dared to question only because he'd just completed a major task for Boss—and done it well.
There was a long pause. Just when Ron thought he'd be left in the dark, Boss's voice returned, slightly quieter than usual.
"Ron, can I trust you?"
"Of course, sir."
Ron picked up on something rare in Boss's voice: disappointment. Vulnerability, even.
Boss was usually the epitome of control—decisive, calculating, a master manipulator. In political circles, they even called him The Party Whip.
"I've been betrayed," Boss said darkly, emphasizing the word betrayed. "That useless corn-haired idiot only succeeded because I backed him. And now he's breaking our deal—he's planning to appoint Michael Cohen as the new Secretary of State."
One sentence was all it took.
Ron immediately understood the gravity of the situation and dropped his casual tone.
"What do you need me to do, sir?"
This was a moment of choosing sides—and Ron didn't hesitate. He picked the losing side. Why?
Because he and Boss shared one undeniable belief:
That orange-tinted businessman in D.C. is a goddamn moron.
"I need you to get the evidence Carter Verone has of Cohen's involvement—before the FBI gets to him. They're already on their way, so you need to move fast," Boss said, wasting no time with niceties.
Every high-profile politician in the country had a financial cleaner—someone to scrub dirty money and run shady little ventures.
Carter Verone was one of them.
Unfortunately, he'd made the fatal mistake of working for a not-so-smart boss.
"No problem, Boss. What's the plan?"
Ron knew better than to dig deeper into high-level schemes he wasn't cleared for.
His job was simple: get it done.
That's how he stayed in Boss's good graces—untouchable, unchallenged, and completely free to do as he pleased.
Just like now.
Did people really think the FBI and the CIA—who had already been played hard by Ron and Andy's schemes—were powerless against him?
What a joke.
No matter how capable Ron was, he was still just one man. What those restless forces truly feared wasn't Ron himself—it was the man standing behind him: Frank.
---
"I need you to head out immediately," Boss ordered. "Buy the earliest flight to Miami. When you land, call the number I just sent you. That's Monica, an undercover customs agent embedded with Carter Verone. The FBI believes she's one of theirs, but she's actually ours. She'll take you where you need to go."
"The fewer people who know about this mission, the better. Ideally, it should be handled by you alone. Any other questions?"
Boss's voice was dead serious.
Ron pulled over to the side of the road and asked the only thing on his mind: "Just one. I'll need some special equipment for this job. Where should I get it?"
"Don't ask me—talk to Olof. I know you two get along well."
Ron stuck his tongue out playfully, even though Boss couldn't see him. "Got it, boss. No further questions."
"Then go."
Boss hung up without another word. Ron could hear faint voices in the background—someone else must've entered the room. That meant this was likely the last call he'd be getting for a while.
He didn't rush to the airport right away.
Instead, he went home, booted up his laptop, and began digging through the internal network for intel on the target.
Whatever interest he had in swinging by Max's place had completely vanished.
---
Carter Verone.
The moment Ron saw the photo, he immediately recognized him as the main villain from Fast & Furious 2.
Beyond the drug trafficking and money laundering, Ron couldn't recall much about the guy.
After all, the Fast & Furious franchise didn't really get good until the fourth film. The earlier ones? Meh. Especially Tokyo Drift. Total garbage.
Shaking off his thoughts about bad cinema, Ron focused back on the mission.
It was very likely he'd run into that green rookie again—Detective Brian O'Conner from the FBI.
Only this time, they'd be on opposite sides.
Ron had to find the evidence before Conner did—and get out with it.
In other words?
Cakewalk.
With that realization, his nerves faded completely.
---
Ron dialed Olof.
"Yo, bro. Remember that LG-5 40mm sniper-grade grenade launcher I ordered from you?"
He paused, listening to the panicked voice on the other end.
"No, no, I'm not canceling. But I do need to change the shipping address... I need it sent to Miami."