"You're who?"
Reyes' voice trembled. "Who sent you?"
Raphael stepped into the room and stopped three meters away.
"No one sent me."
Reyes' finger tightened on the trigger.
"What do you want? Money? I'll give it to you! I've got eighty million! It's all yours!"
Raphael looked at him.
"Where is it?"
Reyes' eyes darted left and right.
"It's in the city, in a safe place. Let me go and I'll take you there—"
"Lying."
Raphael cut him off.
With Force perception running at full power, he could "see" Reyes' heartbeat spiking, "hear" the blood rushing through his veins, and tell exactly which words were true and which were bullshit.
"It's at your other estate outside the city. That's where all your money is."
Reyes' face changed color.
"You… how the hell do you know…"
Raphael didn't answer.
He raised his hand.
Reyes' body lifted clean off the floor, feet dangling, both hands clawing desperately at his own throat.
His pistol clattered to the ground with a dull thud.
"Address," Raphael said.
Reyes' face turned purple, lips quivering, unable to speak.
Raphael loosened his grip just a fraction.
"Cough… cough cough… West side… twenty kilometers… São José Estate… the vault is underground…"
Raphael listened, then closed his fist again.
Reyes' body convulsed violently. His eyes bulged, mouth making wet choking sounds.
Ten seconds later, everything went still.
The body hit the floor with a heavy thump.
Raphael turned and walked out.
When he left the main house, he glanced across the courtyard. Not a single person was left alive.
He vaulted the wall and vanished into the night.
---
Twenty kilometers west, São José Estate.
This compound was smaller than the main Reyes mansion—just one main building and a few warehouses.
But the security was just as heavy—more than twenty armed men and several guard dogs.
Raphael arrived while it was still dark.
3:23 a.m.
Dark Perception mapped the entire estate in his mind.
Guards posted at every corner, dogs patrolling the grounds, the vault entrance hidden in a room on the first floor of the main building.
Raphael moved.
This time he still showed zero mercy.
Ten minutes later, all twenty-three guards had stopped breathing.
Five guard dogs lay curled up in the corner, fast asleep after a gentle Force-induced nap.
He entered the first-floor room, lifted the rug, and revealed a metal hatch.
The vault.
Below the hatch was a staircase leading down. Raphael descended and pushed open a heavy steel door.
Then he stopped.
The entire underground space was packed.
Dollars. Gold bars. Bearer bonds. Documents.
Stacked neatly on shelves, piled in corners, stuffed into crates.
Raphael scanned it once.
Just the cash alone was at least eighty million.
He remembered what Hernan had said before dying—"I've got eighty million."
Looks like it was true.
Raphael didn't waste time counting. He pulled out several oversized duffel bags and started loading.
The dollars took twenty bags by themselves.
The gold bars weighed only about two hundred pounds, but each one was heavy. Fortunately Raphael had come prepared—he simply took an entire safe and carried it out.
The biggest surprise was the bearer bonds—total face value around thirty million dollars.
Light, compact, and easy to move. Raphael couldn't cash them himself, but selling them on the black market would still net him at least ninety percent of the value.
Everything else he left behind.
An hour later he had transferred all the bags to a panel van parked outside the estate and drove away cleanly before the police arrived.
In the rearview mirror, São José Estate grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared into the morning mist.
Raphael drove through the west side of Rio, skirted the edge of the favelas, and finally pulled into an unremarkable warehouse he had rented three days earlier.
The twenty-plus duffel bags were moved deep inside and hidden behind piles of junk.
He checked his watch.
5:51 a.m.
The sky was starting to brighten.
He changed clothes, slipped out the back door, and blended into the early-morning crowd.
When he got home, Monica was in the kitchen making breakfast.
She was five months pregnant, wearing one of his white shirts, hair tied up messily, still half-asleep.
When she saw him walk in, she paused.
"You went out?"
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"Morning run."
Monica snorted.
"Liar."
Raphael didn't argue. He walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
"Breakfast?"
"Almost ready."
"What are we having?"
"Fried eggs, bacon, toast, and juice."
"Sounds good."
Monica leaned back into his chest, spatula pausing for a second.
"Everything taken care of?"
"Yeah."
"Any problems?"
"Nope."
"Good."
She went back to frying the eggs.
Raphael kept his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair.
"Oh, by the way… we're rich now."
Monica paused.
"What?"
"The Reyes money."
Raphael said casually, "Eighty million in cash."
Monica dropped the spatula into the pan.
She spun around and stared at him.
"How much?"
"Eighty million."
"Dollars?"
"Dollars."
Monica opened and closed her mouth several times, unable to speak.
Finally she managed:
"You are one crazy son of a bitch!"
Raphael laughed.
"One who just made sure you never have to work again."
Monica stared at him for a long time, then couldn't help laughing too.
She rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek.
"Then I won't be polite about it."
---
That night, the news in Rio ran a story:
"Prominent businessman Hernan Reyes and his son Dante Reyes were killed last night in their home by unidentified armed assailants. Police are treating it as a gang-related hit and are continuing their investigation…"
Monica sat on the sofa watching the TV, a mug of warm milk in her hands.
Raphael sat beside her, flipping through a magazine.
"They're calling it a gang hit."
"Yeah."
"You didn't leave any traces, right?"
"None."
"Is the eighty million safe?"
"Safe."
"Will the police trace it?"
"No."
Monica rolled her eyes.
She turned to look at him.
"I really am crazy."
Raphael set the magazine down.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. "Just thinking… this life was worth it."
The TV kept playing the news.
Outside the window, Rio's night lights sparkled. Christ the Redeemer stood watch in the distance.
---
Over the next week, Raphael started liquidating the bearer bonds.
The Brazilian guy named João Santos—the same fixer who had helped them with fake documents and buying the house—was the one he called.
Fifty-something, bald, big belly, but sharp eyes that screamed "I've been running this city for decades."
Raphael met him at an outdoor café in Ipanema.
"Mr. Lee!"
João sat down with a big smile. "What can I do for you? Just say the word!"
Raphael slid one bearer bond across the table.
"Can this be turned into cash?"
João picked it up, eyes lighting up instantly.
"Bearer bond? U.S. Treasury? This is tricky… Where did you get this?"
"You don't need to know."
Raphael tapped the table lightly. "Can it be done?"
João frowned for half a second, then slapped his thigh.
"Yes!"
He lowered his voice. "But only ninety percent. These things need special channels. I'll have to grease a lot of palms."
"Ninety percent is fine. Total face value twenty million."
João's hand trembled.
"Twenty… twenty million?"
"Yeah. Do it in batches. Finish within a week."
João took a deep breath, his smile widening.
"No problem! Leave it to me!"
---
One week later, Raphael's accounts gained another eighteen million dollars—ninety percent from the bonds, plus the twenty million stolen from Verone, and the eighty million cash plus gold from the Reyes vault.
His total net worth now exceeded one hundred and twenty million.
When Monica found out, she went quiet again.
"I believe it now."
"Believe what?"
"That as long as I'm with you, I really never have to work again."
Raphael smiled.
"You don't have to work. But you should find something to do."
"Like what?"
"Invest. Build real businesses. Make the money work for us."
Monica blinked.
"You know how to do that?"
"I don't."
Raphael admitted honestly. "But someone does. Like João. He knows people. Let him introduce us."
---
Half a month later, Raphael bought two factories that had belonged to Reyes and were being auctioned off by the Rio city government—for nine million dollars total.
One was a textile factory in the west industrial zone, with over two hundred workers.
The other was a food-processing plant making juices and jams. The equipment was fairly new; it had only been used by Reyes for money laundering and was poorly run.
João slapped his chest. "Mr. Lee, these factories have solid foundations. Get a proper manager in there and they'll be profitable in less than a year!"
Raphael nodded.
"Find the manager yourself. Just don't screw me over."
João grinned so wide his eyes disappeared.
"Never! We're friends!"
The Brazilian fixer had no idea that Raphael had already used the Force on him during their long association.
João Santos had become Raphael's "puppet" without even realizing it.
---
On the day Raphael inspected the factories, he wore a simple gray T-shirt and sunglasses, looking like any ordinary businessman doing due diligence.
The textile factory's workshop was loud with machines. Workers moved along the production lines.
Raphael walked around with the manager, checked the equipment, asked about output, and was about to leave when—
He saw her.
A young girl standing beside one of the looms, head down, checking the fabric.
She wore a blue work uniform, hair tied in a ponytail, revealing a slender white neck. Her side profile was soft and youthful, untouched by the world.
Raphael stopped walking.
The manager followed his gaze and immediately introduced her.
"Oh, that's one of our new temps. Elena Neves. Just turned eighteen. Comes from a poor family, working to help out at home. She's a hard worker."