"Trust me, gentlemen. I'm about to make you millionaires."
Asher Kane straightened his silk tie and flashed his million-dollar smile at the five men around the table. Outside the penthouse window, Chicago sparkled like scattered diamonds. Inside, the air was thick with cigar smoke and greed.
Don Antonio Marcetti, king of the Chicago underworld, leaned back in his leather throne. His gold tooth caught the light as he grinned. "Well, well. If it isn't Mr. Magic himself."
The nickname made Asher's chest swell with pride. They called him Mr. Magic because money disappeared around him like actual magic tricks. Here one second, gone the next. And somehow, it always ended up in his pockets.
"Don Marcetti." Asher nodded respectfully. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."
"When Mr. Magic calls with a business opportunity, smart men listen." Marcetti gestured to the other men at the table. "You know my associates. Vincent, Tony, Big Mike, and Sal."
Asher knew them, alright. Vincent "The Knife" Torrino - Marcetti's enforcer who earned his nickname the hard way. Tony "Two Times" Benedetto - called that because he always shot people twice. Big Mike Costello - three hundred pounds of pure muscle. And Sal "The Fish" Romano - who made people disappear into Lake Michigan.
Not exactly the crowd you'd want to anger.
"Gentlemen." Asher pulled out a thick folder. "What I'm about to show you will change everything."
He spread glossy documents across the mahogany table. Charts, graphs, official-looking certificates with fancy seals. Everything looked legitimate because Asher had paid top dollar for the forgeries.
"Quantum Holdings," he announced. "A small pharmaceutical company sitting on the biggest medical breakthrough since penicillin."
Vincent squinted at the papers. "Never heard of them."
"Of course not. They're keeping everything under wraps until FDA approval." Asher pointed to a chart showing skyrocketing profits. "Cancer treatment, gentlemen. Not just treatment - a cure."
The room went silent. Even hardened criminals understood the value of a cancer cure.
Big Mike whistled low. "How much are we talking?"
"Conservative estimates? Fifty billion in the first year alone." Asher let that sink in. "I'm offering you gentlemen the chance to get in on the ground floor. Before Wall Street, before the big pharma companies, before anyone else knows what's coming."
Don Marcetti studied the documents carefully. The man hadn't survived thirty years in organized crime by being stupid.
"What's your cut, Magic?" he asked.
"Ten percent finder's fee. You invest five million each, I take five hundred thousand total. You make back fifty million or more when this goes public."
It was a beautiful con. Simple, believable, and playing on their greed. What they didn't know was that Quantum Holdings existed only on paper in a file cabinet somewhere. What they really didn't know was that every word was being recorded by the FBI wire taped to his chest.
Asher's phone buzzed. A text message from Agent Sarah Chen: *"Keep them talking. We need more."*
He ignored it and kept his smile steady.
"The clinical trials are showing incredible results," he continued. "Ninety-eight percent success rate. The FDA is fast-tracking approval because of the humanitarian implications."
Tony leaned forward. "Sounds too good to be true."
"That's what they said about Microsoft, Google, Amazon." Asher chuckled. "The best opportunities always sound impossible until they make you rich."
Don Marcetti was still staring at the papers. "How do we know this is real? How do we know you're not running some elaborate scam?"
The question hit closer to home than Asher liked. Because that's exactly what this was - an elaborate scam. Just not the one they thought.
Six Hours Earlier
The diner smelled like grease and broken dreams. Asher sat in a corner booth, picking at soggy pancakes while Agent Sarah Chen delivered his marching orders.
"Your brother is looking at twenty-five to life," she said, sliding photos across the table.
Danny's mugshot stared back at him. Twenty-three years old, covered in bruises from resisting arrest. His little brother, the idiot who couldn't run a decent con if his life depended on it.
"Bank robbery, assault with a deadly weapon, fleeing police..." Chen ticked off the charges like items on a shopping list. "Federal crimes, Kane. That means federal prison."
Asher's coffee had gone cold an hour ago. "I've been feeding you information on Marcetti for six months. What more do you want?"
"More." Chen leaned forward, her gray eyes like steel. "We want you to get closer. Run this pharmaceutical investment scam. Make him trust you completely."
"And then?"
"Then we arrest him for wire fraud, money laundering, and everything else we can stick to him." She smiled without warmth. "Marcetti goes away forever. Your brother gets a reduced sentence. Everyone wins."
"What if he figures it out? What if someone gets suspicious?"
"Then you better be as good as your reputation claims." Chen stood up, dropping a twenty on the table. "Your brother's sentencing is in two weeks. Cooperate fully, or he spends the rest of his life behind bars."
She walked away, leaving Asher alone with Danny's photo and the weight of impossible choices.
His phone had buzzed with a message from Danny: *"Ash, I'm sorry. I know I screwed up. Don't risk yourself for me."*
But that was the thing about family. You risked everything for them, even when they were idiots.
Present
"Don Marcetti," Asher said, meeting the old man's eyes. "I've been working with you for three years. Have I ever steered you wrong? The cigarette smuggling operation made you twelve million. The construction bid rigging brought in another eight. When have I ever brought you anything but profit?"
It was true. For three years, Asher had been the Don's "business consultant" - a fancy way of saying he helped launder money and set up legitimate-looking front companies. It was the perfect cover for gathering intelligence on Marcetti's entire operation.
The Don nodded slowly. "This is true. You've made me a lot of money, Magic."
"Then trust me now. This is the big one. The retirement score."
Vincent was still studying the papers. "These look real enough. But five million is a lot of money."
"It's an investment, not a loss." Asher pulled out his phone. "I can have my contact at Quantum Holdings on video call in two minutes. You can ask him directly about the trials."
Of course, his "contact" was actually his cousin Jimmy, an out-of-work actor who could sell ice to eskimos. But they didn't need to know that.
Marcetti's phone rang. He glanced at it, frowned, then stood abruptly.
"Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to take this call."
The Don stepped onto the balcony, leaving Asher alone with four pairs of suspicious eyes. Through the glass, he could see Marcetti's face growing darker with each word.
Something was wrong.
Vincent shifted in his seat, hand moving closer to his jacket. Tony cracked his knuckles. Big Mike blocked the door without seeming to. Sal just smiled his cold fish smile.
Asher's heart started hammering against his ribs. Against the wire.
On the balcony, Marcetti ended his call and walked back inside. But he didn't sit down. Instead, he nodded to Vincent.
"You know what's funny, Magic?" The Don's voice had gone ice cold. "I just got a very interesting phone call."
The room went dead silent. Even the city noise from outside seemed to fade away.
"That was my friend in the FBI." Marcetti walked slowly around the table. "You remember Agent Rodriguez from the financial crimes unit? The one who owes me his daughter's life?"
Asher's mouth went dry. His hands started sweating.
"Turns out he's been keeping an eye on Agent Chen's operations for me." Marcetti stopped directly behind Asher's chair. "Imagine my surprise when he told me about her favorite little rat."
The world tilted sideways. Three years of careful work, of walking the tightrope between law enforcement and organized crime, came crashing down in a single moment.
"Don, I think there's been a misunderstanding—"
"The only misunderstanding," Marcetti said, pulling out a chrome-plated pistol, "is that you thought you could con me."
Vincent drew his gun. Tony did the same. Big Mike cracked his knuckles again. Sal stopped smiling.
Asher raised his hands slowly. His mind raced through possibilities, escape routes, ways to talk his way out. But he'd played this game long enough to know when the house had won.
"My brother..." he started.
"Your brother is a dead man walking, just like you." Marcetti pressed the gun against the back of Asher's head. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out? Did you really think you could outsmart Antonio Marcetti?"
The wire felt like it was burning against his chest. All those months of recordings, all that evidence, all that risk - for nothing.
"I'm sorry, Danny," he whispered.
"Yeah, you are sorry." Marcetti's finger tightened on the trigger. "Sorry you ever thought you were smarter than me."
The last thing Asher Kane saw was his reflection in the penthouse window - a young man in an expensive suit who'd thought he could con the world.
The last thing he heard was the gun's click.
The last thing he felt was regret.
Danny. I'm sorry, Danny. I failed you.
Mom, Dad, I'm coming...
No. Wait. This isn't right. This isn't...
Light?
What's happening to me?