That evening, the hotel discovered that Saurel had died in his suite.
Police arrived first and, after a preliminary investigation, determined the direct cause of death—a fatal overdose.
The FBI learned of it the next day.
Denham had just started work when he received the news of Saurel's death. He was both surprised and frustrated. He had finally gathered partial evidence of Saurel's money laundering activities connected to Benihana Restaurant—and now Saurel was dead.
Damn it.
Why did he have to die now of all times?
With Saurel's death, the money-laundering trail tied to Jordan had stalled yet again. Given Jordan's ability to learn from his mistakes, it would be even harder next time to catch him red-handed.
Moreover, the leads pointing to Red Flower Restaurant had also dried up. The only remaining option was to go directly after the restaurant itself.
Denham felt a headache coming on just thinking about it.
Japanese criminal syndicates were far more difficult to dismantle than a lone banker.
Standing in front of a whiteboard covered with photos of Jordan and various financial criminals, Denham ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. When he opened his palm, several strands came loose.
If this keeps up, I'm going to go bald.
By the time he left the office that evening, he'd pulled out even more hair—and still had no new strategy.
---
Only when he got home and saw the elaborate dinner his wife had prepared did he finally manage a relieved smile.
Work hadn't been progressing lately, but at least he'd been able to leave the office on time. His wife was happy about that—he'd been more present at home.
"We got a thick envelope today," she said, getting up to retrieve it. "It was addressed to you."
"Oh? Did my magazine finally arrive?"
She handed him the mail.
It wasn't a magazine.
It was a yellow file folder.
Denham opened it.
Inside were billing records. Detailed transaction summaries. Offshore account information.
And a cassette tape.
It was evidence—comprehensive evidence—of Saurel's collusion with Benihana Restaurant to launder money.
The bills were itemized. The overseas accounts were clearly listed.
If this intelligence was authentic, they could arrest Rocky Aoki and potentially secure decades behind bars.
Denham's eyes widened.
This was too thorough.
Who sent this?
He flipped to the last page.
Tucked inside was a single white dove feather.
Denham: "…"
Dove. Dove of Peace.
I knew it was you.
He took the cassette upstairs and listened to it alone.
It contained Saurel's "confession," detailing everything about Benihana Restaurant.
Hearing Saurel's voice, Denham didn't know whether to feel grateful to the Dove—or resentful for killing Saurel.
He knew resentment would accomplish nothing.
Was he supposed to use a feather to convict Luca?
If he used this evidence, the entanglement between him and Luca would only deepen.
Back at the dinner table, seeing her husband distracted, his wife asked softly, "That envelope upset you. You can talk to me."
Denham sighed.
"Have you ever had someone help you without asking for anything in return? He won't even step forward to admit it was him. But I know it was. I can pretend I don't know—but I can't lie to myself. I can't be the kind of man who turns his back on someone who helped him."
He looked down at his hands.
"Do you know what it feels like to be tied to a rope? Catching criminals is like rock climbing. I can endure the pain, climb slowly, step by step. But then suddenly a ladder appears beside me. The destination is the same—but it's easier."
"I don't want to cut the rope. That would mean I'm no longer myself. But without the ladder, I might not reach the top. And once I use the ladder… it might be impossible to climb down again."
He pressed his hands to his forehead.
"So what should I do?"
What disturbed him most was this:
When Jordan had tried to bribe him, he had refused without hesitation.
Now?
Now he couldn't answer so cleanly.
After a long silence, his wife said quietly:
"Denham… we're almost fifty. Maybe it's time you thought more about yourself—and about this family."
Denham exhaled and picked up his fork.
---
Three nights later.
Brooklyn.
An abandoned airport had become a gathering spot for street racing gangs across New York. The wide runway made it perfect for illegal races.
Tonight, the place pulsed with bass-heavy rap music. Young men raced cars around the runway while others held open-air beer parties.
Women in revealing outfits leaned against polished sports cars or sat boldly on their hoods, reveling in the chaos and energy.
"I've got eyes on Rocky Aoki. He's here."
David Mills stood at the edge of the crowd, speaking quietly into his headset.
"Yeah. Turner's here too. Not sure which car has the drugs yet—they haven't started the transfer."
Looking at the dozens—maybe hundreds—of cars and the packed crowd, David felt overwhelmed.
Every kind of fringe group in New York seemed present.
Then he froze.
"Richie… the Dove is here too."
He spotted Luca surrounded by women—Nancy practically pressed against him.
Richie, blocking nearby access roads, paused.
"The Dove? The Mafia's out racing now?"
He frowned. The old guard usually preferred nightclubs and quiet back rooms.
"It's him," David insisted. "No mistake. He stands out—like a celebrity."
David muttered, "We're working overtime, and he's out here partying."
Richie: "…"
Stop talking. Focus.
Then Richie suddenly swore.
"The FBI's here! I just locked down these roads!"
"FBI?!" David blinked.
After a heated exchange over comms, the local police and the FBI agreed to coordinate.
"The FBI has evidence on Aoki's money laundering. They're arresting him tonight! No need to wait for the drug deal!"
David was stunned.
Wow. That was fast.
Suddenly—
BOOM.
A thunderous engine roar echoed across the runway.
A green Mitsubishi Eclipse shot past the finish line like a streak of lightning, flames bursting from the exhaust—nitrous engaged.
Cheers exploded across the crowd.
Brian stepped out, punched the air triumphantly.
"Dove! I did it! Didn't disappoint you, right?"
He threw his arms around Luca in a tight hug.
Luca smiled slightly.
"He really is one with the machine."
The kid had just beaten a heavily modified Nissan GT-R and forced it off the line.
Extraordinary.
Now it was time to collect.
Each driver had wagered five thousand dollars. With more than a dozen cars, that meant around sixty to seventy thousand in total.
But the real bet was the GT-R itself.
"Out of the car, Mr. Aoki," Luca said calmly.
"A bet is a bet."
Aoki clenched his fists, furious and disbelieving.
An Mitsubishi Eclipsed defeated his heavely modified Nissan GTR in New York?
Where had this monster come from?
"Another race," Aoki demanded. "Next time. My crew has better drivers."
"Will there be a next time?" Luca replied lazily. "Keys. Registration."
Before Aoki could answer—
Sirens.
Chaos.
"Police! Run!"
Everyone scattered.
Aoki bolted.
"Fuckin Bastard!" Brian shouted. "That's our car!"
Luca stayed calm.
"Brian. In the car."
Flashing lights approached.
"Running isn't my style," Luca said evenly.
He locked eyes with Brian.
"You came to New York to make serious money. Here's your chance."
He pointed toward the fleeing GT-R.
"That car is mine. Stop it."
Brian blinked.
Seriously? The cops are here and you're thinking about the car?
But he was undercover FBI agent Brian O'Conner.
This was perfect.
He floored the accelerator.
"Leave it to me, Dove! I'll bring it back!"
Even if I wreck it, I won't let him keep it.
The Eclipse roared forward.
Moments later, police vehicles surrounded Luca.
Denham. David. Richie.
Headlights illuminated Luca standing calmly in the wind.
David sighed. "Dove, you race now too?"
"I appear wherever peace is needed."
Denham watched him silently.
Did he kill Saurel?
Was he here tonight for Aoki too?
Suddenly the radio crackled.
"Report! We Succesfully intercepted Aoki! Large quantity of drugs found!"
Cheers erupted—
Then confusion.
"Correction. We didn't catch him. A blond kid in a Mitsubishi did. Fastest thing I've ever seen. Flames out the tailpipe."
Silence.
"No unit could keep up."
Another voice:
"He says the GT-R belongs to his boss. Do we return it?"
All eyes slowly turned to Luca.
He adjusted his cuffs.
"Now you understand why I stayed. Take the man. Leave the car."
Let's all value harmony. Peace above all.
Relief spread through the officers.
Denham stared at Luca, his thoughts more complicated than ever.
__________________________________________________________________________
[Ding! You provided crucial evidence and, together with Brian, assisted authorities in apprehending the head of a drug syndicate.]
[Gain Skill Points +20]
[Gain Skill Fragments +10]
[When adrenaline is triggered, synthesis and secretion speed +5%]
[Remaining Skill Fragments: 21]
__________________________________________________________________________
Luca was satisfied.
Combined with Berserker, this boost would significantly increase his combat capability.
Shortly afterward, Brian returned with officers. The GT-R was brought back as well.
Luca stepped forward and embraced him.
"Well done, Brian. From now on, we make money together."
"Thank you for the opportunity, Dove."
Luca put an arm around his shoulder and brought him before the officers.
"Gentlemen—meet the racing king."
David rolled his eyes.
"Alright, Dove. We get it. You're Driver is Good. Thanks for the assist."
"A driver? No," Luca said firmly. "Brian is one of my men."
The officers exchanged looks.
That term meant something.
It meant endorsement. Protection. Responsibility.
Brian felt the weight of Luca's arm around him.
So quickly… I'm part of the Dove's circle?
Undercover work might not be so hard after all.
The Dove trusts too easily.
Or perhaps—
He simply chooses carefully.
[Bond: Friends]