[Jake's POV]
The corridor was dead silent.
My ears rang faintly. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a low, constant sound. I stood up, adjusting my suit jacket, and looked at the reinforced steel transit cart. It was locked with a heavy digital keypad, but I didn't need to open it. The cart itself wasn't the objective.
The metal gleamed under the lights. Cold. The air tasted like dust and recycled AC. Somewhere down the hall, a vent rattled.
Resting on top of the cart was a smaller, locked Pelican case. Black. Scuffed at the corners. It was the VIP drop box, used for the highest-denomination chips and cash from the private rooms.
I picked up the Pelican case. It was heavy, likely holding over a million dollars in untraceable currency. The handle bit into my palm. It had weight, real weight. My knuckles whitened. The plastic clasps were cool and smooth against my fingers.
