Stepping out of the darkness, Hunter pulled off his tactical balaclava.
He smoothly folded the customized tactical crossbow and sent it back into his [Inventory]. In the same motion, a suppressed pistol materialized in his right hand.
He walked down the sandy beach toward the fallen master thief.
Although Hunter was absolutely certain his bolt had punched clean through Max's heart, professional habit dictated he confirm the kill.
He moved quickly, reaching the target in seconds.
Ever since maxing out his [Shooting] skill, Hunter had developed a fondness for crossbows. With his current abilities, he could guarantee a dead-center hit on a target from three to five hundred meters away, even with a bow.
Of course, a bolt flying that distance didn't have the kinetic stopping power of a high-velocity rifle round. But specialized bolts with custom broadheads made up for it at closer ranges.
More importantly, Hunter loved the stealth. A crossbow was virtually silent.
A fired bolt produced only a faint thwip—a sound easily masked by the ocean—whereas even a heavily suppressed sniper rifle made a distinct, mechanical crack.
On a dark night like this, Hunter felt confident he could silently annihilate a heavily guarded compound using only his crossbow.
Standing over Max, Hunter kept the pistol aimed at the man's head.
Looking at the massive pool of blood soaking into the sand, it was obvious Max was gone. Still, Hunter crouched down and pressed two fingers against the man's carotid artery.
No pulse. The massive blood loss from the severed heart had induced rapid hemorrhagic shock, followed by death within a minute.
Mission accomplished.
Hunter ignored the corpse and turned his attention to a dilapidated wooden pier jutting out from Max's private beach.
It extended about five or six meters into the water. It was a standard, unassuming structure meant for docking small motorboats or fishing. The villa Hunter was renting had a similar one.
Normally, it wouldn't warrant a second glance.
But Hunter had been watching Max through the scope of his crossbow for quite a while before taking the shot. He had clearly seen the master thief wandering down to the pier and fiddling with something underneath it.
Hunter didn't know exactly what Max had been doing, but his behavior screamed "hiding something."
Hunter quickly moved beneath the pier, tracing Max's footprints in the sand.
He arrived at one of the thick, wooden pylons driven deep into the seabed.
It looked completely ordinary.
But Hunter remembered Max's extreme caution. The thief had looked around nervously before approaching this specific pylon, and had checked his surroundings again before walking away.
To be that paranoid on his own private, fenced-in beach at two in the morning meant whatever he was doing was highly illicit.
Hunter leaned in close, running his hands over the rough wood, inspecting it inch by inch.
A few moments later, he smiled.
"Clever."
He had found a nearly imperceptible seam. Someone had bored a deep hole into the thick wooden pylon and then plugged it with a custom-cut wooden stopper made from the same grain, blending it perfectly with the surrounding wood.
Unless you knew exactly where to look, or had watched Max fussing with it, it was entirely invisible.
Hunter pulled a multi-tool from his Inventory and carefully pried the wooden stopper loose.
Inside the hollowed-out space rested a small, black velvet pouch.
Hunter pulled it out. It felt light in his hand.
He opened the drawstring and tipped the contents into his palm.
Caught in the moonlight, three massive, flawlessly cut colored diamonds tumbled out. They were nearly identical in size and shape, each easily exceeding thirty carats.
Even though Hunter's net worth was now well over a billion dollars thanks to the Zephyrgold, the sheer breathtaking beauty of these gems made his breath hitch.
"Wait a minute. These look familiar."
"Are these the Napoleon Diamonds? The ones traveling on that luxury cruise ship?"
"How did Max get his hands on them? Did he already pull off the heist? There hasn't been a word about it on the news..."
When Hunter had booked his tickets for the cruise to the Dominican Republic yesterday, he had seen the promotional materials. The ship was hosting a highly publicized exhibition of three flawless diamonds once owned by Napoleon Bonaparte.
Rumor had it each stone was worth tens of millions of dollars. As a complete, matching set of rare colored diamonds with immense historical provenance, a billionaire had allegedly offered three hundred million dollars for them, and the offer was rejected.
Hunter hadn't expected to stumble across them. Max had apparently pulled off the impossible heist right under the FBI's nose, only to be assassinated before he could do anything with them.
And now, the diamonds belonged to Hunter.
An unexpected windfall of three hundred million dollars made his already good mood soar.
He quickly stored the diamonds in his Inventory and replaced the wooden plug, making the pylon look undisturbed.
Leaving the beach, Hunter took a long, circuitous route back to his rented villa to ensure he wasn't tracked.
Once inside, he pulled out his Continental laptop, logged into the secure network, and marked the contract as "Completed," requesting the Hotel send a "cleaner" to verify the kill and dispose of the body.
He took a quick shower to wash off the sand and sweat, then slipped quietly into bed next to the deeply sleeping Sam.
He drifted off to sleep.
The Next Morning.
The sun had barely risen when a sharp knock echoed from the front door.
Hunter, who was already awake and cooking breakfast, didn't bother taking off his apron. He walked over and opened the door.
A Bahamian police officer stood on the porch, accompanied by a staff member from the Atlantis Resort.
"Good morning, sir. I apologize for the intrusion," the officer said politely.
"There was a homicide on the island last night. We're conducting a routine check of all residents and guests. Could I see your passport, please?"
The officer was respectful. He knew Hunter was a high-paying tourist who had been on the island for a while without incident.
"Of course. Just a moment," Hunter replied calmly.
After joining the Continental Hotel, Hunter had spent a few gold coins to have their elite forgers create several bulletproof false identities for him. The passport he was using in the Bahamas was one of these flawless fakes.
He walked back inside, retrieved the passport, and handed it to the officer.
The policeman inspected it, jotted down the details on his clipboard, and handed it back.
"Thank you, Mr. Sun. Just a friendly warning: it might be best to avoid going out late at night for the next few days."
Hunter thanked him, and the officer moved on to the next house.
Watching the police walk away, Hunter raised an eyebrow.
"Looks like it's time to clean up the rest of the garbage and get Sam off this island."
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