Michael arrived at the storage facility at seven forty-five AM. He'd spent the night in his car in a Walmart parking lot, dozing between security patrols. His neck ached and his shirt was wrinkled.
Franklin's car sat two rows over. Trevor's motorcycle was parked near the office, mud splattered on the fenders.
Unit 47 was already open when Michael arrived. Franklin stood studying the intelligence packet spread across a folding table. Trevor paced near the back wall, checking equipment.
"You look like shit," Trevor said without turning around.
"Rough night."
"Amanda kick you out?" Franklin asked.
Michael didn't answer. He pulled the USB drive from his pocket and tossed it on the table.
"Let's get this over with."
---
Franklin watched Michael slump into a plastic chair. The man looked defeated. Tired in a way that sleep wouldn't fix.
"What happened?" Franklin asked.
"She knows. Everything."
Trevor stopped pacing. "How much is everything?"
"The crew. The jobs. The storage unit." Michael rubbed his face. "She found our safe deposit box. Tracked my purchases."
"Smart woman," Trevor said.
"Smart enough to throw me out and change the locks."
Franklin set down the architectural plans. "She gonna call the police?"
"No. But she sent the kids away. Told me to choose between family and crime."
Trevor laughed. "Guess we know what you chose."
"Shut up, Trevor."
"I'm just saying. You're here instead of begging for forgiveness."
Franklin stepped between them. "Focus. We got bigger problems."
He opened his laptop and connected the USB drive. The screen filled with detailed schematics of Maze Bank Tower.
---
Trevor studied the building plans over Franklin's shoulder. Forty-seven floors of corporate offices and data storage. Multiple security checkpoints. Biometric access controls.
"This is professional intelligence," he said. "Military grade."
"How can you tell?" Michael asked.
"The detail level. Guard rotation schedules down to the minute. Emergency response protocols. Someone spent months gathering this information."
Franklin scrolled through digital files. Personnel records for security staff. Maintenance schedules for elevators and ventilation systems. Even the cleaning crew's background checks.
"Target is floors forty-five through forty-seven," Franklin said. "Corporate data center. Financial records storage."
"What kind of records?" Michael asked.
Trevor pulled up another file. "Bank transactions. Investment portfolios. Corporate partnerships." He looked at Michael. "The kind of information that could destroy powerful people."
"Or make someone very rich," Franklin added.
---
Michael stood and walked to the unit's back wall. His tactical gear hung from hooks like ghosts of his former life. Kevlar vest. Night vision goggles. Assault rifles wrapped in plastic.
"Timeline says we have seventy-two hours," he said. "Server wipe happens Friday night."
"That's tomorrow," Franklin said.
"I know."
Trevor joined him at the equipment wall. "You sure about this? Once we commit, there's no backing out."
Michael thought about Amanda's last words. Choose us. But he'd already chosen. The moment he'd agreed to meet them, he'd made his decision.
"What's the entry plan?" he asked.
Franklin pulled up building blueprints. "Service tunnels. Old subway construction from the nineties. Runs directly under the building."
"Flooded?"
"Partially. We'd need diving equipment for two sections."
Trevor traced the tunnel route with his finger. "How do we get from the tunnels to the forty-seventh floor?"
"Maintenance elevator. Requires two keycards and biometric scan."
"We can bypass the electronics," Trevor said. "Question is timing. How long do we have before security responds?"
"According to this, average response time is four minutes from initial alarm."
Michael calculated distances and elevator speeds. "Not enough time to reach the server room and extract the data."
"Unless we disable the alarm system first," Franklin said.
---
Franklin opened another file folder. Security system schematics showed cameras, motion sensors, and pressure plates throughout the building.
"System's controlled from a central server room on the thirty-fifth floor," he said.
"So we need two teams," Michael said. "One to handle security, one to grab the data."
"Three teams," Trevor corrected. "Someone needs to watch our exit route."
Franklin studied the timeline. Twenty-four hours to plan a mission that should take weeks of preparation.
"This feels rushed," he said.
"Everything about this feels wrong," Michael replied. "But we're out of options."
Trevor pulled weapons from storage containers. "I'll handle security systems. You two get the data."
"Why you?" Franklin asked.
"Military training. Electronic warfare specialty."
Franklin had forgotten about Trevor's background. The man might be crazy, but he knew his way around technical systems.
"What equipment do we need?" Franklin asked.
Michael pulled out a checklist. "Diving gear for the tunnels. Climbing equipment for the elevator shafts. Electronics for the security bypass."
"And a way out when everything goes sideways," Trevor added.
---
Trevor inventoried their weapons cache. Three assault rifles. Handguns. Explosive charges. Enough firepower to fight a small war.
"How much resistance are we expecting?" he asked.
"Building security is contracted," Franklin read from the files. "Former police and military. Armed but not heavily."
"What about backup?"
"LSPD response time is eight minutes. SWAT is fifteen."
Trevor did the math. "We have maybe ten minutes from initial contact to complete extraction."
"Cutting it close," Michael said.
"Story of our lives."
Trevor's phone buzzed. Text message from an unknown number: *Good luck tomorrow. Don't disappoint us.*
He showed the screen to the others.
"Someone's watching," Franklin said.
"Someone's always watching." Trevor deleted the message. "Question is, are they helping or hunting?"
Michael closed his laptop. "Does it matter? We're committed now."
---
Michael looked around the storage unit. Everything he'd tried to leave behind. Weapons. Equipment. The tools of his former trade.
"We do this job and disappear," he said. "New identities. New locations."
"What about your family?" Franklin asked.
"They're safer without me."
"You sure about that?"
Michael wasn't sure about anything anymore. But Amanda had made her choice. Now he had to live with his.
"Meeting tomorrow at midnight," he said. "Tunnel entrance is here." He marked the location on a street map. "We go in dark. No communications once we're inside."
"What if something goes wrong?" Franklin asked.
"Then we improvise."
Trevor grinned. "My favorite part."
Franklin shook his head. "This is insane."
"Probably," Michael agreed. "But it's our insanity."
They spent the next hour reviewing plans and checking equipment. By ten AM, everything was ready.
Michael locked the storage unit and walked to his car. His phone showed seventeen missed calls from Amanda. All from last night. None this morning.
She'd stopped trying to reach him. Which meant she'd accepted his choice.
---
Franklin drove back to his dealership with his stomach in knots. Twelve hours until the job. Twelve hours to pretend everything was normal.
Lamar was waiting in the showroom when Franklin arrived.
"Where you been?" Lamar asked. "We got customers asking about you."
"Taking care of business."
"What kind of business?"
Franklin pulled out inventory reports and pretended to study them. "The kind that keeps this place running."
Lamar wasn't buying it. "Franklin, man, you been acting strange all week. Missing appointments. Taking mysterious calls."
"I'm fine."
"Are you? Because you look like someone who's about to do something stupid."
Franklin met his friend's eyes. "If something happens to me, the dealership is yours. Papers are in my office safe."
"Franklin—"
"Just promise me you'll take care of things."
Lamar stared at him for a long moment. "What are you planning?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Then don't do it."
Franklin wished it was that simple. "Some things you can't walk away from."
"Yes, you can. You just choose not to."
Maybe Lamar was right. But Franklin had made his promises long ago. To Michael and Trevor. To the crew that had saved his life and given him opportunities he'd never have found otherwise.
Loyalty demanded a price. Tonight he'd pay it.
---
Trevor rode back to Sandy Shores with adrenaline already building in his system. The familiar pre-job energy that made his hands shake and his mind race.
Chef was waiting at the compound with coffee and questions.
"You look wired," Chef said.
"Big day tomorrow."
"How big?"
Trevor pulled out maps and began marking routes. "The kind where we might not come back."
"You want backup?"
"No. This is personal business."
Chef nodded. He'd learned not to ask too many questions.
Trevor spent the afternoon cleaning weapons and checking equipment. Each rifle stripped, oiled, and reassembled. Each piece of gear tested and packed.
By sunset, everything was ready.
Trevor sat on his trailer steps and watched the desert sky turn purple. Tomorrow night, their careful plans would meet reality. People would get hurt. Maybe killed.
But someone had forced their hand. Someone with resources and patience and a plan that went back months or years.
Trevor intended to find out who. And when he did, they'd regret dragging him back into the life he'd never really left.
His phone rang. Michael.
"You ready?" Michael asked.
"Always."
"This changes everything, you know. After tomorrow, there's no going back."
Trevor looked at his compound. His empire built on violence and chemistry and the kind of business that destroyed everything it touched.
"There never was," Trevor said.